


Among the Wicked Ones

by strawberriesanddidion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Female Character, Competition, Daddy Issues, Developing Friendships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Family Issues, Gryffindor, Healing, Heartbreak, Heartbreaking, Hopeful Ending, Hufflepuff, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbian Character, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Mommy Issues, Original Character(s), POV Female Character, Powerful, Psychological Trauma, Ravenclaw, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Humor, Sexual Tension, Slytherins Being Slytherins, Unresolved Tension, oldmoneyaesthetic, richkidsbeingrichkids, toxic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28404204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesanddidion/pseuds/strawberriesanddidion
Summary: "Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends"Circe van Astor is a bitch. Circe van Astor is a bitch. Circe van Astor is a bitch.Six children of the most influential families in Wizarding Britain, if not the world. Too many secrets to count. A wicked game. Power, control, and everything in between. And enemies, or perhaps just one, a pretty little snitch, determined to sell them out, to string out their secrets for the highest bidder. Vices, and sins; the grey area between good and evil."There is no winning or losing, because, we," She made an all encompassing gesture around the six of them. " we always win. And even if you think for once you've succeeded, you haven't , and you never will. Surely you would have understood that by now? Envy is the worst sin of them all,"
Relationships: Astoria Greengrass/Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini/Original Character(s), Cedric Diggory/Original Female Character(s), Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Theodore Nott/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 8





	1. -1-Cheap firewhiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, please read this, and I swear I won't bother you anymore.
> 
> !I do not own any of the Harry Potter universe characters, all rights belong to JKR. (I do not support her, hence my decision to write my own alternate universe-ish fanfic)
> 
> This is a WIP.
> 
> I own Circe van Astor and any other created characters like her family, or Timothy, so please do not steal her or use her without my consent--I don't know how this works.!
> 
> Anyways, this fic came to me because I wanted to write a female character who is just as big of a 'bitch' and behaves just like male heirs of a family do, but of course with the consequences. My original character Circe van Astor comes from two very old and rich magic bloodlines, British and French. She's dealing with a lot everyday, some things she can't remember, some things she can't forget,(light foreshadowing) but she still manages to be a bad bitch everyday. Ok, maybe not everyday but you get the gist of it.
> 
> Trigger warnings (general) will be added in the note of each chapter, but general ones include:
> 
> -mental health
> 
> -substance use
> 
> -assault/reference to
> 
> -sexual and mature content
> 
> DISCLAIMER-IN AMONG THE WICKED ONES, VOLDEMORT AND THE DEATH EATERS HAVE BEEN DEFEATED IN THE FIRST WIZARDING WAR, THEY DO NOT RISE UP AND I AM SORRY FOR NOT STICKING CLOSELY TO THE PLOT.
> 
> ALSO, so it falls into my plot
> 
> 6th year=17-18
> 
> 7th year=18-19
> 
> (They can use magic from 17, not many other details are different.)
> 
> !This is not a action packed story, but one that follows *the* group of Slytherin students from Circe's perspective. It will all make sense I promise.  
> Also I was inspired by the story 'All The Young Dudes' by MsKingBean89 to add lyrics at beginnings.  
> This will also be published on my wattpad at some point, I'll mention when.
> 
> I also have a cast for all the characters,(lemme know if you want the details ) but you can picture who you want. Tom Felton is not my Draco let me make that clear though.  
> I picture Circe as a young Liv Tyler, or even Frances Bean Cobain with black hair.  
> Sorry for the long note, and enjoy!

_Find a cure, find a cure for my life_

_Find a cure, find a cure for my life_

_Find a cure, find a cure for my life_

_Oh my god, oh you think I'm in control_

_Oh my god, oh, you think it's all for fun_

_Oh my god, oh you think I'm in control_

_Paint a smile, paint a smile on my face_

_Paint a smile ,paint a smile on my face_

_Paint a smile, paint a smile on my face_

_Put a pice, put a price on my soul_

[-]

-31st August-

Circe van Astor was being a right big bitch.

Or at least, that's what Josephine had been continuously screaming for the past half hour. And then she tearfully apologised for double the time, Circe knew Josephine meant well, she always did, plus, she had heard worse. Circe was a bitch because she stole Josephine's silk cami top and because she drank the last of Josephine's fire whiskey, which had been piss poor compared to her standards in alcohol. The fact that the pristine and welcoming Josephine's poison of choice was second rate fire whiskey at best, not the Japanese stuff Circe had tried to get her into-was hilarious on multiple occasions.

That was the defining moment of the night before her parents decided to ship her off to yet another magical school, Hogwarts, yet this time she had big shoes to fill.

"I will buy you a crate of this firewhiskey, if you could please just shut the fuck up. I think I am coming down with a headache." Josephine lingered at the edge of her bed, and sucked in a sharp breath. They all had to deal with her moods, even her sweet twin who wouldn't hurt a fly even if it buzzed in her ear and kept her up nights.

Circe would probably exterminate the fly population—she very much valued her sleep.

"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Josephine padded over to Circe's dresser and opened up her surprisingly unlocked jewellery box, toying with an emerald ring.

"Are you?" Circe stared at her twin through glassy eyes.

"Not like I'm coming with you, they couldn't handle two van Astor's at Hogwarts." Josephine cheekily said, trying on the emerald ring's matching necklace. Both of them had inherited their mother's taste of expensive jewellery, but only Circe had inherited their mother's cold unwavering disposition. The van Astor charm came naturally to the both. So did half of the van Astor inheritance but that was a discussion for another time.

They could very well handle Josephine, Circe was the 'problem child' or whatever the muggles called it.

"Mother told me they have houses, whatever that means." Josephine continued.

"Beauxbatons has houses too Jo, you seem to forget , Miss Papillonlisse. The house of the kind, gentle and artistic." Circe's voice came out more strained than usual as she attempted to reach across her bed to her nightstand. She soon became frustrated and murmured a quick _Accio wand_. Circe had been sorted into OmbreLune, the name speaks for itself.

"Yes but they do not make a difference to us. Mother said houses are everything at Hogwarts, where you eat, where you sleep, where you—,"

"Where you shit, where you get drunk and where you fuck I assume."

"Circe!" Jo's cheeks reddened and she sat down opposite her sister on the bed.

"What! Did mommy dearest not mention that?" Josephine bristled, she loved their mother, idolised her even.

Circe could not stand Agnes van Astor more than she could stand Oscar van Astor, their father.

"Are you packed?" She was toying with her hair aimlessly and Circe felt an immense sense of guilt rip through her as she felt jealous of her sweet blonde blue eyed sister. Anyone would look at Josephine van Astor and be stupid to not see how classically beautiful she was. Somebody would take one look at Circe and describe her as being 'unconventionally beautiful', whatever the fuck that meant.

"Nope. I don't know what to bring, except Phantom."

Phantom was Circe's black cat, and wherever Circe went, Phantom would automatically have to be there, there was no negotiating. She would never admit it sober but Phantom and Josephine are perhaps the only two souls she ever felt that she loved.

On cue, Phantom jumped up on the high bed and gingerly settled next to her. The cat began softly purring, a smidge of black with a blue eye and a yellow eye.

"Do you not have a list?"

"I do."

"So?" Josephine never really understood why Circe preferred to spend her days in her bedroom when they were at home, and why she never seemed to be fully rested. And it wasn't her fault.

"I didn't feel like doing it. Mimi did." At the mention of her name, their house elf appeared, holding a half eaten apple. She widened her eyes and for a reason Circe could not deduce, took a wide bow.

"You called Mimi Miss Circe! Mimi came to Miss Circe!"

"You can go Mimi, I just said your name. Mother's rules don't apply to me." At the mention of her Mother, Mimi looked down and sighed.

"Mimi can help Miss Circe!" She bolted across her bedroom into her closet and came out a minute later with piles of clothes.

"Mimi, it's alright—,"

"Mimi is just house elf but Mimi reads the Modern Witch! Mimi knows clothes Miss Circe!" Mimi also spoke only in exclamations.

Besides her, Josephine let out a small giggle perhaps at the situation they found themselves in, but not at Mimi, never at Mimi.

"Alright Mimi."

"Does Miss Circe wish for Mimi to pack her trunk!" Circe nodded briefly, suddenly overcome with a deep sense of emotion as everything suddenly seemed perfect—Josephine picking clothes with Mimi, Phantom napping soundly in between them and sweet Mimi who always brought the two sisters sugar quills and chocolate frogs, even though their mother abhorred them. However, she found that perfect never truly lasts in the van Astor family.

-1st of September-

After falling asleep next to Phantom, the prospect of waking up and getting ready was daunting. Why would she trade the warmth of her bed for whatever the day offered? So she decided she wouldn't, not until she was forced to.

The sun filtered in though the big windows in front of her bed, and she could deduce that the weather was pleasant enough for the beginning of September in England. She glanced around her room, the dark furniture and posters of bands she had stuck to the walls, much to her mother's dismay, seemed melancholic to look at. A love-hate relationship could best sum up her opinion of her room, sometimes she loved the reaction it brought to people, sometimes she felt ashamed—it was too messy and too disorganised. Yet, she always knew how to manoeuvre it.

The calm of her morning was interrupted when a very out of breath Josephine burst through the door, clad in a white knit jumper and a red skirt. The white jumper reminded her of the ones Timothy used to wear during winter, the ones she would take off him. Yes, she should write to Timothy, he deserved better than what she could offer him.

"What are you doing? Get up! Mother expected you at breakfast thirty minutes ago!"

Had she run up the stairs?

Circe rolled her eyes, and rolled them once more as Josephine ripped her thick covers off of her, leaving her in a tank top and underwear.The cold of her room hit her like a violent storm, it was truly impossible to maintain such a large heating spell over a Chateau with sixty three rooms. But Circe was always cold, despite anything she tried.

She padded to her adjoined bathroom and turned on the faucet to splash water on her face and she allowed herself a brief glance in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy, her astonishing pale green eyes seemed more tired than ever and her hair was still messed up from her sleep.

Josephine on the other hand, seemed as well rested as one can be, golden locks falling in two sleek plaits down her back.

"I don't eat breakfast. Mother knows." She muttered under her breath as she rummaged through her closet.

Throwing her tank top off on the ground, she settled on a long sleeved black dress that was short and pissed off her mother and her worn in pair of black boots.

" Yes, but well, you could try you know, you won't see them, or me for that matter until Christmas,"

"So?" A hurt look appeared on Josephine's sunny features and for that Circe felt remorse.

"Come on, Circe," She held out her hand, and Circe held it, feeling like they were 10 once again, but that feeling passed as quickly as it came. For that, she did not know why.

They made their way out her room and down the long corridor which led to the stairs, passing portraits of their ancestors that smiled widely at the two, until Circe looked at them back. Their home or 'The van Astor Chateau' as their mother called it, had been decorated in that very royal British way with painted ceilings, gold detailing and an obscene amount of paintings. It had been in her father's family for centuries and not much seemed to change in that period of time. Pureblood wizards , were sometimes like hoarders of everything.

Rounding a familiar corner, they arrived to the grand double doors of their main dining room and Circe snapped her fingers—the ability to perform windless magic had always been in their family. It had first manifested when she was four, and she set one of the hedges in their garden on fire, just by picturing it, then it happened and everyone was mad at her. 

The doors burst open with a groan and the van Astor sisters were met with the stare of their furious mother and a bored father. Circe couldn't yet tell which was worse this morning.

"So kind of you to join us, Circe."

She nodded at her mother as she sat to her father left, Josephine sat next to their mother who was still glowering across from her.

A moment passed, in which she mixed in cream into a steaming cup of coffee and sat back in her chair, before her mother began again.

"You don't seem too excited for your first day, why is that Circe?" Her mother's eyes were identical to Josephine yet where Josephine's were calming and kind, her mother's were icy and cruel. She suddenly felt small.

"Don't know."

"What was that? Speak up and sit up straight for Gods' sake, I did not raise a commoner who has no table manners. You seem to forget who you are."

How could she forget? Circe van Astor, the eldest of the van Astor sisters, the heir presumptive to the van Astor fortune, and a disappointment. They would never let her forget. Today, she felt much too exhausted to pick a fight with her mother, so she looked at her father as she played with a strawberry on her plate.

Her father had attended the school they were sending her to. She would be starting her sixth year at the academy hidden deep in the Scottish highlands, there was nowhere for her to run away to, her mother had remarked a week ago.

"Father, how is the school like?" It was Josephine who spoke up. It took a moment for her father to raise his head from his newspaper and look at her, then at Circe. She didn't want admit it, but she saw his smile dwindle as he glanced at her.

Perhaps it was the eyeliner. Ha.

"It is something else Jojo, had some of my greatest years there. Made friends that I am still proud to have."

"What house were you in?"

He sat up straighter and smiled gleefully as if he was deep in thought.

"Slytherin of course. Reckon that's what Circe will be Sorted in to as well."

"Why is that?" Her question came out colder than she had expected it too and she almost felt bad. But then, she remembered what her father had done a year ago and the guilty feeling left.

"Well, I, there's a saying about Slytherin that reminds me of you Circe, 'cunning folk who play to win and will use any means to achieve their ends'," The father and daughter perhaps, shared a small moment then and there, but perfect little moments never last in the van Astor family.

She had to admit, these Slytherins interested her.

Their breakfast continued with just two more remarks from her mother, but Josephine, ever the beacon of light and positivity in their family managed to steer the conversation away from them. The three of them talked about random things while Circe half listened, just as she was brought back to reality when her name was mentioned.

"What?"

"Did you see what Skeeter published in the Daily Prophet about you?" Josephine inquired, eyes peering over what she assumed to be the paper.

"No, what are you talking about?" Josephine pulled out her wand and effortlessly levitated the newspaper across the wide table, landing it right next to her. When she saw the cover, she grimaced, this must have been the cause of her mothers's sour mood.

CIRCE Van ASTOR SPOTTED IN DIAGON ALLEY, SOURCES SAY THE 17-YEAR-OLD WILL BE BEGINNING HER 6TH YEAR AT HOGWARTS, NEW SLYTHERIN PRINCESS, PERHAPS?

-Rita Skeeter investigates

_The van Astor family are no stranger to their fair share of controversies and time in our papers, their eldest daughter Circe being their most infamous member. After running away from the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic just two weeks ago , and re-appearing in a London bar she began her two day long spiral. My sources say she was spotted in intimate situations with not one person, but two people—one was identified to be Timothy Beaufort, a longtime friend of the van Astor sisters and an unknown witch. Can the great Agnes van Astor, a descendant of the Great Merlin himself , not control her own teenage daughter? Afterwards, Circe, obviously drunkenly vandalised an alley, with the words 'GET FUCKED!' And a quite crude drawing of the male and female reproductive organs._

_My dear readers, you may be asking yourselves, like I am, what could have happened to the poor little rich girl whose father owns half of the wizarding world, that she ran away from school? For that I sadly do not have an answer! But I have an answer for what she is doing next, HOGWARTS! Is this a last resort for the van Astors? It sure looks like it!_

_We have no comment from the famous family yet but today is the first day of school at the School of Witchcraft and Wizadry so we will have to see. What will Circe do next? Also, what houses are we betting on, I think Slytherin but it could be anything, except Hufflepuff because Miss Circe van Astor does not strike me as the particular warm and kind sort._

_Until next time, Rita Skeeter!_

_(pictures below are of the heiress engaged in a passionate kiss with Timothy Beaufort and of Miss Circe's artistic talents)_

And as she put down that newspaper, all three of her family members eyes on her, one singular thought escaped from the rest—good, she had gotten their attention. She smiled and arose, chair scraping obnoxiously behind her.

"I think it's time to leave, wouldn't want to be late to my first day of school would I now?" The infamous devilish smirk was back on her cheeks; trouble.


	2. -2-A garter and an indecent proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe meets Pany's friends, shocks with a thigh garter, and arrives at Hogwarts.

_Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Money don't grow on tress_

_I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed_

_There ain't nothing in this world for free_

_No, I can't slow down, I can't hold back_

_Though you know, I wish I could_

_Oh, no there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Until we close our eyes for good_

[-]

King's Cross Station was that type of busy place that made Circe feel like all eyes were burning into her and her skin crawl with contempt. After her father and mother had both insisted on taking her to her train, either to insure she gets on it, or maybe to show that twat Rita Skeeter that 'Agnes van Astor, a descendant of the Great Merlin himself' can control her teenage daughter. Wizards in detailed robes passed her, as did people in Muggle clothing, the type she wore to piss off her mother. Everyone seemed to be in a rush, and she watched them, instead of looking at her very impatient mother. It filled her with dread, secretly, that she would be attending a new school with new people and new rumours. It filled her with dread, because maybe they would see past the van Astor name see a girl she didn't recognise. Nobody had to know this, to know the thoughts that poisoned her mind.

Her father looked around busily doing anything, but making conversation with his daughter, while her mother was marking things off of a list of parchment.

"Robes?"

"Yes, mother,"

"How many pairs?"

"Seven and five winter ones?"

"Your wand?"

"Yes, of course, I'm not daft,' She couldn't help the snarky remark and her mother had said nothing—Agnes had to be perfect in public. Plus she was seventeen now, their heir, she wouldn't be disciplined in public. Agnes van Astor outgrew that phase since she was twelve, after she slapped her at a ball and the society snobs were not concerned with Circe's wellbeing, no , they were embarrassed for Agnes,for the sole reason that she was seen doing it.

"Your owl?"

"I know you can see Aphrodite in her cage mother," Her mother nervously smiled and returned a wave to someone behind Circe.

"A Guide to Advanced Transfiguration?Confronting the Faceless? Advanced Potionmaking? "

"I have the same list as you Mother. I ordered all the books and more days ago."

Her mother sighed and tugged a hand through her roots, Circe noted another habit she picked up from her mouth and vowed to remember to not do it anymore. It was clear she was waiting for the train to pull into the station. She also noted her mother's dress-a dark blue satin, that was obstructed by delicate robes, whither hair, the utter opposite of Circe's fell around her shoulders, not a piece out of place. Circe stood out next to her mother, in her short dress, much too short, and the hair that never listened to her. Perhaps, it was not the ability to be graceful she lacked, ballet ensured she had that, but the want, the need to be graceful at all times.

"Is that you Oscar van Astor?" Circe heard a deep voice behind her and turned around to see a tall dark-haired man embracing her father. His face reminded her of someone, or something but she couldn't place it yet. The two men held each other beaming, while her mother injected herself into the conversation seamlessly.

"Cassius Parkinson! It's been too long old friend!" She had never seen her father smile so much in the past six months.

No that was a lie, Josephine wrote them a poem in August for some strange reason and he announced her to be 'amazingly talented and a true rare gem for our family'. In August, Circe discovered she could grow the muggle plant-'weed' in a pot on her windowsill, and some 'catnip' for Phantom. It was a great help while she lived at home, everyone was oblivious but, she needed it after London.

Her father moved towards her , with a sort of pleading look in his eyes. At that Circe began wondering what would happen, what would her parents do, if she embarrassed them-again. The sounds of the train station and all the people constantly moving had made her almost not see the girl standing behind the man. She was tiny in height but seemed around Circe's age with black hair cropped at her chin and a very determined look on her face, with the tiniest hint of deviousness.

"Cassius, you remember my daughter Circe, and my wife Agnes," The tall man shook her hand and kissed her knuckles right next to her ring with the family crest, but she choose to ignore that part. "She will be starting her sixth year at Hogwarts."

"Oh how amazing, then she must meet my daughter... Pansy! Pansy come here darling,"

The girl with the short hair shoved by a group of gingers, or perhaps a family or gingers, to arrive at her father's side once more. She patted down her hair before looking Circe dead in the eye,then up and down, and grinning.Perhaps it was the boots.

"Yes, oh, hello, Pansy, Pansy Parkinson." She had sussed out the hint of deviousness on her face but here it was in her voice too, mixed with quite a high pitch. Circe's own voice was a tad raspier.

"Circe."

Before she could say anything else , the loud sound of the Hogwarts Express erupted in the station cutting off any conversation. She let herself glance towards her dad who had a stunned expression on his face and he was almost tearful.If only he expressed that much emotion around his eldest daughter, then maybe some of Circe's unresolved issues would be promptly resolved.

The train whirred past them with a great cloud of smoke billowing from it, and cheers from excited students. 

"Circe! You must sit with me and my friends," Pansy said loudly from next to her, over the melting pot of noises. 

The heiress looked at her mother who moved next to her husband and placed a protective hand on his shoulder. That wouldn't help now.

"Mother, father, I'm off with Pansy," It felt weird to watch them act as if they cared in public. With a forced soft look on her face, her mother moved towards her and embraced her in a cumbersome hug. Her father, perhaps for the sake of his friend who held his daughter in a tight embrace, laid a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

"You'll love it here." How would you know? She missed Josephine dearly.

Pansy tugged on her hand,after waving to her father and pulled her away towards a platform. They passed all sort of students, from young to old , that were clambering on the train. Most of them moved out of Pansy's determined way and she saw a young girl almost tear up. Her and Pansy would be good friends, she could tell.

"Slytherin managed to get private carriages this year for all of us. Reckon you'll fit right in." And with that they stepped onto the train. She spoke with more of a posh British accent than Circe did, hers was muddled with a French smidge that came out at times. 

The sound of people talking was the first thing she noticed on the train, alongside the numerous windows and small groups of students. The whisphers would begin as soon as they recognised her. Sometimes she hated it, most times, but sometimes like now in an unknown place, she did not mind. People who give into rumours, are not worthy to know her. 

She felt for her wand at her side as she trailed after Pansy, black robes billowing behind her. Pansy had nice legs. The girl stopped before a glass door, and pushed it open. Around them, the train lurched forward and Circe had to stabilise her footing to not fall forward.

Pansy walked ahead, head held high and lifting her hands in the air, and shouted loud enough for the whole train to hear, "MORNING FUCKERS!" .

Curious eyes found her behind Pansy and so the whispers began, she wasn't quite unknown. Regardless, she had the same guarded look on her face that she had become so accustomed to portraying, no incessant smiling. It made her look weak, thats what her mother would say. 

Yet she found herself smiling at Pansy's outward display that she broke her mother's rule, it was clear her and Pansy would get along just fine.

"Circe van Astor, meet the Fuckers, the Serpents, the posh cunts, or alternately known as my best friends," The short-haired girl sat down now next to a pretty curly-headed girl who smiled at her, Circe had yet to introduce herself. She took them all in just as they were taking her in. Around them,the train was fully moving.

"Hello," was all she could manage surprisingly. She glanced at all of them, Pansy's six friends, and locked her jaw, perhaps not in the most friendly way but one of the girls whispered something and snickered, making her feel self-conscious for the slightest second.

"Oi! I know you," The dark skinned boy with the flask was the first to speak as he shot out of his seat. "I can't place it—Oh! You're the 'get fucked!' girl, oh man that was marvellous truly, I am a fan." He extended a hand and she found herself smiling at his playfulness.

"Not one of my finest performances,"

"I beg to differ! You were together with my mate Tim—," Circe's eyes widened.

"You know Timothy?" She interrupted him rudely.

"His dad and my mom used to date when we were twelve, stilll kept in touch—he'll always be like my brother. How d'you know him? Blaise Zabini pleased to make your acquaintance ." They still hadn't sat down yet but she shook his large hand.

"Timothy, he's a friend, back at Beauxbatons."

"Looked like more than a friend," The same girl whispered from earlier. Circe was trying much too hard to bite her tongue, but it seemed Pansy beat her to it.

"Oh shut it Tracey , go fawn over Adrian Pucey's biceps like you usually do!" Pansy motioned for her to sit next to her, in between her and Blaise.

"And you sorry lot, are really not going to introduce yourselves? Is this what we have come to? Gryffindor manners, or lack thereof?" Although Circe did not understand what or who Pansy was referring to, she had to admit the girl had a flair for the dramatics.

She looked across the carriage to Pansy's other friends. The mouthy girl from a minute ago was actually positively enchanting, with long blonde hair that reminded her of her sister, and honey coloured eyes. Next to her, a brunette boy, that was staring right back at her, ran his hand though his hair and smiled at her brightly. Then he winked cheekily, Gods what was it with these boys?

"Hello there love, the name is Theodore Nott, this lady to my left is Tracey Davis, who happens to be in a mood this morning," He paused again before continuing. " And this charming fellow is Draco Lucius Malfoy."

The blonde boy burned through her with his eyes, but it wasn't like earlier, he didn't make her feel self-conscious, he made her feel powerful, slightly giddy even. His eyes were perhaps his most intense feature, icy and grey, almost illuminating. They deserved to be admired. He furrowed his brows and turned his attention back out the window.

"Where did you study before Hogwarts, Circe?" The girl whose name was Astoria and who had bouncy caramel curls and a tender smile, asked.

"Beauxbatons for one year. Ilvermony for two years, and Mahoutokoro in Japan for two years."

Tracey scoffed. "Finally gracing us with a van Astor presence at Hogwarts then, hmm?" She taunted.

Circe knew people like Tracey all too well, people who were all talk, the jealous sort and the best way to deal with them was to not fall into their trap.

"Yes, I suppose I might as well." Pansy's eyes flashed and she squeezed her hand. It was a simple gesture, but so oddly comforting, that it almost brought tears to her eyes. Never, not in public, not with anyone to see.

"Theo, how was Italy?" Blaise asked changing the topic, falling into a comfortable pattern of conversation that she could only observe for now.

She wasn't paying much attention though, stealing glances at the boy with the icy eyes and scowl was much more interesting. There was something about him that was fascinating.

At first the prospect of a five hour train ride with complete strangers seemed daunting but as the conversation progressed, Circe van Astor thought, that a year at this school couldn't be so bad. Blaise was hilarious, Pansy was ballsy, Astoria was very diplomatic, Theo was the definition of a 'ladies man', Tracey was, well, certainly something, and Draco was...confusing.

To pass the time, Pansy had taken it upon herself to inform Circe of everything and everyone at Hogwarts, with everyone chiming in.

"And then there's Hermione Granger, the girl practically eats books up. She's the top of our year and a prefect. A Gryffindor,"

"Gryffin-dork, more like it." Blaise chimed in with a snort.

"She runs around with her little group, somebody started a nickname calling them the 'golden trio' , and I will abstain from commenting on that."

"Who are these friends? I am _so_ confused right now,"

"Well, duh, you need a Hogwarts crash course! I am cramming five years worth of information into two hours. Keep up, love,"

"Actually, does anybody have any parchment and a quill? Figure I could write a letter."

It was Theo who produced a roll of parchment and a quill from somewhere in his pockets and handed it to her, Circe offered him a charming smile. Was he blushing? Blaise traded window seats with her so she could have the small adjoining table to write on. It also happened that Draco Malfoy occupied the opposite window seat to hers.

She did not want Draco seeing any part of her letter.

_Dear Timothy,_

_Father and Mother are sending me to Hogwarts for the year, and I am sorry for not telling you anything earlier. I thought they would change their mind._

_I suppose it's for the best, I befriended your ex-step brother on the train there. He's funny and he makes the same stupid jokes you used to make._

_I'm sorry for those two days in London and I am sorry for how things ended, you deserve better than what I could give you._

_You'll forever hold a special space in my heart Tim, but for now please look after Josephine. Give her my best and tell her I will write to her soon, hopefully she isn't too cross with me._

~~_I wish we could have been something more._ ~~

_Goodbye Timothy._

**_Circe van Astor._ **

Yes, Circe would miss Timothy, mostly the physical part of their 'friendship' but she also may have exaggerated a little bit—better to let sensitive boys down slowly.

"Circeeeeeeeeeee, who are you writing to?" Pansy's voice broke the silence. Her noisyness was not irritating, it felt sisterly, but it did have the possibility of becoming irritating.

"A friend," She responded, watching the scenery blur into one as the train passed through. They were on a bridge now, and murky waters of dark blue almost black surrounded them.

"A friend or a _friend?"_ Pansy wiggled her eyebrows and she felt all six of them looking at her.

"A friend." Gods, she could really be rude sometimes, like Josephine said.

She folded the letter and pushed up her dress up her right thigh, where a black garter was fastened tight around her thigh, and she placed it there. All the boys in their cabin had their eyes on her leg and their mouths open, except Draco, whose eyes seemed to darken and burn into her. Circe straightened her dress, and stared right back at them, as if she didn't know what she was doing.

Theo smiled widely and cleared his throat before breaking the imposing atmosphere.

Gods, these brits, had they never seen a thigh garter before?

"Circe, you're half french right?" She nodded, a faint blush creeping up on her cheeks.

"So, you speak French right?" Another nod.

"How do you say, 'You take my breath away and I want to lay in-between your thighs'? I'm truly curious..."

Circe burst out laughing but it was once more Pansy who spoke out, "Theo, you sex-crazed freak! Gods, you're gonna make her think we are all a bunch of fucking weirdos. This is why I didn't want to introduce you to my cousin Theo!"

The whole carriage burst out laughing and poking fun at Theo's ways. Even Draco joined in at one point earning a cautionary glare from Theo. It was all in good fun. And for the first time in a week of quiet brooding and tears at her family's expense, she was truly laughing and having fun.

Another hour passed and the train came to an abrupt stop, and Pansy was the first to get out of her chair, pulling Circe and Astoria along with her onto the narrow corridor.

"It's time for the Great Feast, and it's time for you to get sorted!"

[-]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3  
> Song is Ain't no rest fo the wicked by Cage the Elephant


	3. We take care of our own here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe remembers something from her childhood on her tour of the castle...and it involves an unexpected person. The Serpents get a new member.

_And I like my candy, and your women_

_Im finally happy now that you’re gone_

_Got my little red party dress on_

_Everybody knows that I’m the best, I’m crazy_

_Get a little bit of bourbon in ya_

_Get a little suburban and go crazy_

_Because you’re young, you’re wild, you’re free_

_You’re dancing circles around me_

_You’re fucking crazy_

_Oh, you’re crazy for me._

[-]

Circe rode in the self-drawn carriages with Pansy, Blaise and Astoria, from the train station in Hogsmeade up to Hogwarts.Lush trees covered the landscape with a flourish of greens and the beginning shades of autumnal colours. She sighed with content at the feeling of being outdoors and at the constant conversations held between her new friends, and they included her, in all of it. Circe had met them six hours ago yet they treated her as if they knew each other for at least two lifetimes, well not everyone.

Her belongings had been brought there before hand with a complex spell her father was fascinated by, even Phantom was supposedly wanderingthe castle. Phantom always found her.

As the carriage approached the school, the differences between Hogwarts and the other three schools she attended were obvious. It lacked Beauxbatons carefully crafted spires and turrets of white marble, or Ilvermony’s mountains, or Mahoutokoro’s complexity, but what it did have was its grandness. The castle was elevated and surrounded by water, and Circe could already feel the magic buzzing at her skin. It was old, old magic that called out to her, welcoming her, almost making her fall out of the carriage. 

“Oh, I wonder what you will do before the feast tonight,” Pansy said nonchalantly , fiddling with her sleeve. Circe's head snapped towards her new friend just as a light breeze picked up. The sun was still shining overhead and it made Pansy's black hair streak with thin strings of gold, and it was there she could admire how cruelly beautiful Pansy actually was, like she was a cold statue. The complete opposite to Astoria next to her, with golden terracotta hair and a head full of coppery red hair, who sat gracefully, a soft smile on her face.

“What am I _supposed_ to do?”

“I—I actually dunno, Gods, this is why I didn’t make prefect this year,” Pansy burst out laughing, her shortly-cropped hair moving as she shook her head.

“We haven’t had a transfer for two years Circe, but I suppose you are to wait for Professor McGonagall,” Astoria spoke out from next to her, nonchalantly. “She’s the Gryffindor Head of House and the Transfiguration Professor, tall lady with glasses—you can’t really miss her.”

The carriage came to a stop and she followed Blaise and the two girls up a winding path to the grand entryway of the Castle. They weaved skilfully through the throngs of students, and once more she looked up at the carved ceilings and the portraits that seemed to fill the walls. Everything was stone, grey stone, and it dissipated to a wide staircase, that was adorned with a rich read carpet. They walked past the staircase, which students were filing up on, Circe walked behind Pansy and Astoria but stopped behind a tall archway to just take it all in. All around her, like on the train, students were walking past her, many sparing curious glances, or judgemental ones, not just at her, but at their whole group. On the train, she had the chance to properly introduce herself to all of them, and vice versa and she soon deduced she was in the company of the offspring of the most influential families in the wizarding world. Very fitting. It vexed her that, that fact may actually make her parents proud if they found out and that was certainly not her goal. 

She closed her eyes for the faintest second but opened them, remembering how foolish she mighthave looked. And as she opened them, she felt a presence at her side, Theo. Theodore Nott, second eldest, with a first year brother, awfully charming. His family business was something to do with wood for brooms, though his father was connected in the industry. And it was apparent, that Oscar van Astor was acquainted with him as well. Fucker.

“You owe me a roll of parchment Miss van Astor,” He smirked down at her, and said. 

“Oh, I think you’ll manage just fine, Mr. Nott,” With the corner of her eye, she watched him watch her, both stuck in their own little bubble. 

“Listen, I—,” He began but stopped as Astoria aproached them with a slender stern faced woman. The woman’s eyes quickly ran up and down her body, possibly noting her lack of traditional wizarding robes, Oh well.

“Hello, I am Professor Minerva McGonagall, please do come with me Miss van Astor,” And with that she turned around and began walking ahead.

Circe blew a silent kiss to her new friends who were watching her, like a gaggle of geese, and wondered where the Draco was. It turns out McGonagall was an abnormally fast walker and Circe had to jog up to keep up with her. Her burgundy robes flared out behind her, and she wore a traditional witches' hat, that hadn't been worn in at least two decades.

And when she did catch up with the woman, she was full of questions, but decided on the most obvious one.

“Where are we going Professor?” They rounded a corner. McGonnagall threw her a look behind her shoulder before responding.

“To my office of course, the Headmaster insisted on a tour with two of our best students.” Her voice betrayed nothing of who the people could be. Maybe it would be the girl Pansy was complaining about on the train.

Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime of walking through the school, the Professor stopped in front of what seemed like a very heavy wooden door with an intricate gold handle. She whipped out her wand and it opened revealing a large room with at least four ceiling length bookshelves.McGonagall beckoned for her to enter and gestured towards a brown upholstered leather couch which reminded her of her father’s own office back home. Oval windows let in the remnant of the day’s natural light and coated the room with a warm orange glow.

“You are transferring from Beauxbatons Miss van Astor?” The older woman asked not raising her head from a stack of papers she was rifling through. Circe suspected it was her school records—good, she could be brilliant at times. Let them see that.

“Yes, Professor.” She straightened her posture, head held high ‘the van Astor way’.

“You’re quite thebrilliant student,” She peered through the pages, “So, I must ask, why did you leave Beauxbatons?”

Her whole body went cold. _I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know._ _I was suffocating and I was drowning in it all. It was all too much. So I left, and that is all I remember._

Josephine had suggested a Mind Healer for her memory problems, that had affected her after 'the incident' when she was fourteen. But,if her mind did not wish to remember substantial portions of her past then she wouldn't-they hurt too much. Legilimency was a solution, but she was a trained Occlumens since her childhood, at her mother's behest, she wouldn't just trust somebody to see into her. Into her darkest, deepest secrets, all the heavy ones she held and could remember. She was getting too in her thoughts, and she suddenly remembered where she was,and with who.

“Needed a change.” Her answer was short and an obvious lie, but she finished it off with a charming smile and hoped it would suffice to fool the old lady.

A knock on the door stopped her from inquiring anymore about the past that felt like a grey, empty wasteland in her mind. Like those scenes in Western muggle movies, when the cowboys are at a standoff, and there is nothing there except the two of them, but for Circe, she was one of the cowboys, and she was alone and she had no idea who she was fighting. Or when. She just knew something was there.

“Come in.”

In walked a girl, with a scowl on her face and a bushy head of messy hair that reminded her of a lion’s mane, and right behind her, holding the door like the pureblood gentleman she assumed he is, was Draco Malfoy. He was still in the same black suit from the train, but now he had robes on top of it-open robes, that were trimmed with an emerald green. Slytherin colours. The girl accompanying him also wore robes, though slightly more dull, that were trimmed with red. Not Slytherin colours.

“Ah, Hermione, Draco just in time!” The Professor got upfrom behind her desk and Circe took it as a cue to stand up as well, pulling down on her dress which had rode up. “Well don’t just stand there, introduce yourself to our new student, Miss Circe van Astor.

The girl with the wild hair eyes’ widened as many did when people referred to her by her full name. Great. Draco maintained the same unreadable expression from the train. It was an opportunity to asses him, tall and imposing as he may be, he actually looked bored.

“Bonjour, Je m’appelle Hermione Granger. C'est merveilleux de te rencon—,”

“Gods, she speaks English Hermione.” Draco was clearly holding in a laugh, or a much more acidic comment, as he scoffed.

Hermione’s cheeks blossomed into a rosy shade of pink. Circe stifled a laugh herself but it truly was an honest mistake. The girl’s French was positively atrocious, but oh well.

“Vous avez une nom très belle, ne vous inquiétez pas pour les français, c'est une erreur honnête. It is nice to meet you too.” She smiled kindly, emulating Josephine, attempting to prove to herself she could not be a bitch.

McGonagall clapped her hands, “Right then, off you go on your little tour. Feast begins in an hour.”

* * *

Draco held the door open once more but now for Circe as well, and as she passed so closely by him, in all his suited glory, she realised just how much he towered over her. And Circe van Astor was not short. 

Hermione took the lead ahead of them, guiding her through now empty corridors and taking many turns Circe was sure to forget. Draco walked at a much slower pace, his hands in his pocket, occasionally making small comments or remarks. She found herself walking next to him, at the same pace.

‘“So, Circe, what do you do for fun?” An attempt at polite conversation, commendable for her efforts but unnecessary.

“You know, the usual.”

“I think your usual is much different from mine,” Hermione followed back up, with a chuckle.

Circe had not sussed out if the girl was being condescending or just awkward.

“And _why_ is that?” They took a left and she caught Draco smirking.

“Well, you know, because you’re _Circe van Astor—_ you’re always in the papers.” Hermione stopped before a door, and attempted to push it open but failed. Draco seemed amused. It was Circe this time who muttered a simple _Alohamora_ and Hermione was able to push through the door.

“Go on, please finish that train of thought Hermione.” A muscle in her neck tensed up, did her name precede her everywhere?

“Well, and don’t take it the wrong way but I don’t think you and I do the same things to have fun, let loose…” Strong liquor and her favourite record tended to do it for her, perhaps a snog or two, and some sort of fun substance, but she could tease Hermione. She watched Hermione enter first, looking around the open space, not meeting Circe’s eyes.

“What, so, you don’t sacrifice virgins and take bubble baths in champagne? Gods…” Draco let out a breath, clearly understanding the humour.

“I,er prefer a good book and some tea—,”

“You know I’m _fucking_ with you, right?” Hermione let out a strained ‘Oh’ and began her monologue about the room they found themselves in.

It was the most enchanting room she had ever been in. Only half of it was covered and the rest was an open balcony with the same thick stone carved railings all over Hogwarts. In the middle of it, she couldn’t name the instrument, but Mahoukotoro had an identical one, and it was used for their astronomy lessons. ‘Helping connect them to the stars’ was a cheesy line the professor had used but somewhere deep down in her she truly felt connected to them.

Stargazing off of rooftops was one of her favourite past times.

She noticed Draco off to the left of the enormous balcony and she strolled past Hermione to join him.

“This has officially become my favourite tour stop.” They weren’t close enough for her to see him clearly as the Sun had already set but she could swear a ghost of a smile played at his lips.

“I told Hermione to add it, figured you’d like it more than the Herbology classroom,”

“I do,” Night time arrived quickly, bringing with it a clear sky. The stars had came out to play and they were exhaustingly bewitching. He said nothing more. Silence enveloped them, even Hermione had stopped talking, and now they were just three normalteenagers with the stars in their eyes.

Except Circe van Astor would never be a normal teenager. Being an heir tended to overrule adolescence.

“You know, we met before you and I, and your sister,” Her head snapped towards the side to try to decipher if he was being truthful or not. She hadn’t mentioned a sister on the train.

“It was years ago, in summer, I was ten, my mother dragged me to this grand estate for tea. And when we apparated, I thought I would be forced to sit in a room for hours on end with ladies, eating biscuits but then you two appeared.”

“I—,” She tried to remember, she really truly did.

“You were sisters , I figured quick enough, but you looked nothing alike. Her name escapes me, but she was so shy and she ran off as soon as we were introduced. But you Circe, you took my hand, and took me to this kitchen, and gave me a berry tart, and asked me for a secret,”

And then it hit her.

Josephine’s blush, her white dress flailing past her as she ran off, the boy, so so tall for their age, with hair prettier than Josephine’s, and oh, how jealous she was of his hair. Running through their home, feet pattering against the marble floors, taking him to the house elves where she spent most of her time, and cheekily repeating a line from a muggle movie she had seen in secret.

“I remember,” It was blurry, and foggy but she did, one good memory from a childhood that seemed to have taken place eons ago. And she would never tell him or anyone for that matter how great of an achievement it was to be able to say those two words. He had turned to face her now, and he was so close.

She felt like she could cry. The berry cake and the sound of giggles were replaying in her head.Nothing ruined that memory yet, and she was cautious with it, locking it in a tiny little box in her mind, and placing it on the top shelf. There it would be cherished.

“I asked you—,” Hermione interrupted their conversation by coming over, and beginning to panic about the time.

“Gods, the feast is set to start in five minutes, we have to hurry!”

She walked out and Circe kept looking at Draco, as if he would disappear off with her memory, but he was there and he looked so dashing in the light. There was not one crinkle in his black suit. There must have been a thousand on her back dress.The walk through the castle was rapid and she trailed Hermione and Draco, all of them in an intense hurry. She was grateful for the ballet lessons and for the stamina they built up, or else she would have been panting like a dog in heat as they almost ran.

They slowed down as they came across two open doors and where she assumed the feast would be taking place. Rows of tables occupied by students in green, blue, red and yellow detailed robes decked the room, and floating candelabras (recognised from one of her mother’s galas). She looked up to admire the strangely opened room, and she looked back down she recognised she was alone. The room was open in the full sense of the word-there was no ceiling,and she was alone in the full sense of the word, in her little alcove.

Not yet stepping foot into the Great Hall, and unsure if she should, she remained by the shadowy entrance, away from prying eyes for just the little bit longer.

“Students! Welcome back to another great year at Hogwarts! Before we can all indulge, there is one matter we must attend to! I beckon you all to welcome our new student, Miss Circe van Astor,” A deep man’s voice boomed through the room and reached her even from her little alcove at the entrance.

She ran a hand through her long hair and fixed the edge of her dress, and remembered through it all who she was. Circe did not enter the hall, Circe van Astor entered the grand room, head held high with the familiar charming arrogance, not caring about the whispers. The room was bigger than she thought. At the far end, the man was standing in front of a table of what could only be teachers, long white beard and silver robes, arms open wide and she knew that is where her destination was.

That did not mean she could not make the best of her walk there. Invoking the ballerina fluidity, and the van Astor pride, she masterfully sauntered through the tables, commanding all the eyes in the room to be on her. Attention was good, in moderation, and when she could control it. Control was all that mattered.

_What is she doing here?_ You tell me.

_Whore._ Subjective, depends on who you ask.

_I heard she fucked her teacher and got kicked out of her last school._ False, but one can only hope.

_I want to marry her._ Gods, no thank you.

_I am gonna marry her._ Gods.

_Look at her dress!_ Yes, it is quite amazing.

_This is Circe van Astor?_ What were you expecting, I come riding in on a white horse with solid gold horseshoes and a crown?

_Skeeter was right!_ Fuck her.

Her thoughts were having the time of her life.

She soon arrived before the old wizard, and he looked down at her through spectacles, and surprisingly offered her a curt smile. 

“We are delighted to have you at Hogwarts, Circe. As I hope you know by now, we operate on a houses system here. Now, please sit,” He motioned to awooden chair, “and let’s get you sorted.”

The whole room had become silent and Circe herself was unsure of what she was supposed to say or do, so she listened to the old man’s instructions. The chair faced the whole room on a raised platform but her eyes quickly found the table where her train companions were sat.Pansy smiled brightly and blew a kiss, Blaise waved and Theo made quite a crude gesture involving his two fingers and tongue. Astoria, sat next to the mouthy girl Tracey, and smiled gracefully.

And Draco, Draco’s face was unreadable but she held his gaze, just as she felt the man, whose name she deduced was Dumbledore, place the old hat on her head.

**_Ah, what do we have here? A van Astor? very, very interesting._ **

_Are you talking to me?_

**_Yes, child, only you can hear me, for now, now quiet and let me do my job…_ **

**_Hmm, you’re an interesting one. I can see great things in your future. You value loyalty, but you are so competitive, brilliant and brave, brave but not stupid. A complex brain. You’re cunning, and I see you rarely don’t get what you want. So independent as well.So much yet to know. There is only one place where you’ll thrive with people of your own, yes…_ **

A moment passed and the hat was quiet.This was completely different than how she got sorted at Beauxbatons-no silver magical arrows were involved. 

She held her breath.

**_SLYTHERIN!_ **

The banners above her turned green and she saw Pansy and Blaise leap out of their chairs and cheer. She beamed, glad to join her friends. 

“Slytherin, just like your father,” The old wizard said and Circe could bite his head off, why must all happy moments be ruined?

The cheering had not stopped, in fact it had increased, as she took a seat next to Pansy and Blaise. Blaise hooked an arm around her shoulders and gave her a side-hug. She tensed for a bit, she was not used to this affection. Like all of them had been friends for a lifetime and more.

“Welcome home Circe. You're officially family now, and _we take care of our own here_.” Pansy whispered as they faced each other and she felt an indescribable urge to hug her, the whole moment was bittersweet.The Slytherin table was the only table who had made no comments. No dirty glances, no judgemental looks, and perhaps, Hogwarts wouldn’t be as bad as she thought. Maybe she could be Circe for a while, not Circe van Astor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it <3 
> 
> Songs is Cruel World by Lana del Rey


	4. The chocolate cake cigarette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe receives a letter from home and humbles a much too proud and sexist Slytherin, because she can. Oh and we are introduced to our first couple!

_Gleaming_

_Twinkling_

_Eyes like sinking_

_Ships on the waters_

_So inviting_

_I almost jump in_

_[-]_

“So how old is your cat?” Pansy inquired, holding a very distraught but pleased Phantom against her face. He wasn't the friendliest of cats, and she wasn't the friendliest of people so for Phantom to be in Pansy's arms with no incessant hissing was a good sign.

After the drawn out dinner and more discussions with McGonagall, she was informed she would be joining Miss Parkinson as a dorm mate. It would be the first school she had a dorm mate at, and it felt strange. 

Pansy had insisted she show her the room first before any sort of interactions with the other Slytherins, and much to Circe’s delight, all her things were already there, and Phantom was blissfully sleeping on an couch.Until Pansy squealed and picked him up.

“He’s seven years old. Got him on my tenth birthday, Josephine got a white dog. Muffins.”

“Who’s Josephine?” Pansy was still snuggling against Phantom who was now purring, very pleased.It had slipped her mind, that she had not mentioned her sister , forgetting how private their family was. Josephine was never hounded in the papers like Circe. Plus, she just assumed Pansy knew, for some odd reason.

“Jo’s my sister—,”

“You have a sister?!” Pansy’s green eyes widened, a surprised look on her face.

“Yes, she’s younger by a bit and you know how wizarding laws are. Im the official van Astor heir.”

“Well, she’s not at Hogwarts clearly, where is she?” Circe’s mind drifted to Josephine, in her powder blue Beauxbatons uniform and warm disposition that put everyone at ease. Gods, she was such a terrible sister for not writing to her immediately.

On cue, Aphrodite, tutted from where she was perched close to Pansy’s jet black owl Cleopatra. Strong women seemed to be a favourite for names all around.

“Beauxbatons.”

“Odd, you two are apart like that. I don’t have siblings so I wouldn’t know truly how it feels, but I’ve got plenty cousins.”

Circe said nothing as she moved towards the bed opposite Pansy’s and sat down, feeling her weight dip into it. The bed was large enough for two people to sleep in with room to spare, and her sheets were a creamy white which reminded her of home. The whole room was decorated in a way that was not how she expected.

When she had first entered the Slytherin common room, with it’s dark furniture, leather couches and those expensive rugs she recognised from her father’s study, she had suspected Pansy’s dorm would be similar, but it couldn’t be more different.

She opted for a small couch which was a soft pale pink velvet, and pillows and soft blankets throughout. A few candles automatically lit as they entered, an intoxicating smell of vanilla and a flowery scent she couldn’t place, and Pansy had a bunch of records and posters. Of surprisingly Muggle singers and bands.The two of them, pureblood status emblazoned on their forehead, ‘got down’ with the Muggles and their culture. The irony. Her mother would throw a fit, thats why all her records at home were disillusioned with a charm she modified so that she could only see them It was quite complex magic, but worth her peace and mind. Circe was expected to listen to only classical music from wizard composers not PJ Harvey, Sleater-Kinney and the Runaways. 

“It doesn’t affect us much, or me. She would have loved it here but no place is more perfect for her than Beauxbatons.” Pansy offered a small ‘hmm’ and entered their bathroom.

This was the perfect time for Circe to get her fair share of love from Phantom in. Phantom opened his sleepy eyes, and regarded his owner happily as she scratched his favourite place under his chin. One of his eyes was a light cerulean blue and the other a bright green and Josephine always joked he was half her, half Circe. He purred, loud vibrations reverberating through the room, and he played with his tail, slamming it on the bed repeatedly. 

“Oh how I’ve missed you Phantom,” She said to no one in particular but Phantom, of course.

His fur was as soft as always, and she silently wondered how he had made his trip to Hogwarts from the van Astor home in England.

A knock startled her, but she made no effortto let go of Phantom as she moved towards the door to open it. She swung the door open to reveal Astoria, changed into a oversized grey jumper, smiling. Her hair was pulled back into two thick plaits, and she held a bright pink bottle with a witches' hat on it. Astoria lifted up the bottle, smiling even wider.

“Hi darling— Oh who’s this beauty?” She immediately noticed a lazy Phantom and fawned over him.

“Hi Astoria, this is Phantom, he’s my cat,”

“Can I come in? Is Pansy here?” Circe moved sideways to allow her to pass through, setting a curious Phantom down, and shutting the door. Astoria left the pink bottle on the dresser and sat down on Pansy's bed. She gestured to the bottle and explained it was a light alcoholic beverage, her and Pansy's favourite that tased like raspberries and strawberries. 

“Oh, Pansy, yeah, she’s just in the bathroom,” Astoria nodded and tugged at the sleeve of her jumper. She looked at home, like she had been here before. 

Of course she had, they’re clearly friends. Pansy came out of the bathroom, running a hand through her hand, but as soon as she saw Astoria, a wide smile found its way onto her face breaking her stoicism. Before Circe could even say anything about Astoria, Pansy crawled across her bed and wrapped her in a intimate hug that ended with both of them tangled in her bed, Circe suddenly felt like she was intruding on their moment.

Astoria, looked at Circe for a split second, then planted a firm kiss on Pansy’s lips. They started to properly kiss and out of that aristocratic politeness, she turned around and filled with her bed’s cover. Phantom meowed from beside her, loudly, and the pair stopped, now breathing much too heavily.

“Circe, uh, Astoria is my girlfriend but we are not really telling anyone, yet, can I trust you with this?” Pansy spoke as if she was out of breath, immediately commandeering Circe’s attention with rosy cheeks.

“Gods, of course, don’t worry. I wouldn’t dream of it,” She already brushed it off, because although it did take her by surprise, it did not bother her in the slightest. She would be a hypocrite if it did. Circe van Astor enjoyed the company of everyone, not just boys, certainly not just boys. 

“Great, now, the lads are usually messing around the common room, want to join them?” Pansy asked, getting off the bed and stalking to a mirror to fix her hair. Astoria followed her.

“Yeah, can you wait for me to change first?”

Pansy nodded.

Circe opened the trunk at the foot of her bed when a letter caught her attention on top of her clothes. It was sealed with a light blue wax, and Circe recognised her sister’s seal immediately.

_Dear Circe,_

_Mother said I shouldn’t write at first, let you settle in for a bit, but I couldn’t help myself, so you must excuse me. Mimi slipped this letter in before your trunks were sent out. She also insisted she would do it only if you promise to eat good and never forget that she makes your favourite sweets, not the Hogwarts elves._

_Gods, writing that made me tear up._

_I wish we had more time to say goodbye. I wish I could have helped you and I wish I could have been a better sister, but I am a coward next to you._

_Two more years until we can get that flat we dream of and move out, not much now!_

_I believe in you Circey-bear._

_With loads of love, kisses and hugs,_

_Jo_

She hadn’t realised it at first as she sunk down to the cold floor next to her trunk, and felt tears prickling at her eyes. Josephine was referring to their childhood dream, that they would abandon their ancestral home and move into one of those London flats with large windows to let in the sun, when they both finish school. But thats what it was, nothing more than a dream. Her sister could do it, and Circe would gladly finance it out of the family vault, assure her sister a happy life, help her get a job even, but for much too much was expected of her as the heir. 

**I believe in you.** Circe clutched the letter close to her chest.

“Circe, oh dear are you alright?” Astoria was kneeling next to her, a worried lookon her face, and a cautious hand on her back.

_Look at yourself you pathetic littlefool. In tears on the floor over a letter. Get yourself together Circe, Gods, what have I raised_? Her mother’s voice rang through her head painfully.

She sniffed, “Yeah, sorry, I need to relax. Could I bum a cig off of any of you?”

“The boys should have some, I ran out as well.” Pansy spoke from next to her, calculated eyes assessing her.

She hated this, hated people treating her like she was a fragile little girl who could break.

With a short breath, she stood up and ran a hand through her long hair, tugging slightly at the roots as a reminder. Circe hadn’t forgotten of her desire to change so she quickly grabbed a pair of her ballet shorts to place on top off her black tights, too lazy to take those off, and replaced her dress with a loose fitting black sweater. It was soft and smelled of cigarettes, bergamots and orange blossoms; she usually wore it on her night walks. She left her hair loose, dark waves almost reaching her waist down her back. 

“Right, let’s go,” She’d left her wand in the room, not seeing any use of carrying it around, and her ability to do wandless magic would suffice for anything she could possibly need to do in a common room.

Astoria walked out and Circe followed her down the twisting corridor which made up the girl’s dorms, and down the stairs. Soft laughter and conversation could be heard from the stairs, as the girls descended into the open common room. More Slytherins young and older were littered throughout, some were reading, some were just talking and some, specifically her new friends, the posh cunts were laughing wildly and sharing biscuits and tea. From proper thin porcelain saucers that were emblazoned with their house logo. 

She recognised Blaise and Theo on the two opposing couches alongside two other boys and Draco. Tracey sat next to Draco. Hmm.

Blaise was the first to spot them and he opened up his arms and grinned widely, showing a small gap between his two front teeth.

“Hello ladies, to what do we owe the pleasure?” He stood up and performed an exaggerated bow before Circe.

“If you want it to be an accurate bow you would have to kiss my feet and ask permission to rise,”

“Well pardon me your highness, I’ll keep it in mind for next time.” She positioned herself between him and Theo on the couch and crossed her legs. Draco Malfoy was staring at her. So she stared right back with the same soberness.

“Hi,” Theo whispered, poking her leg.

“Hi,” She poked his leg. Gods, he is adorable.

“I don’t think we’ve met, Marcus Flint, Quidditch captain.” A boy with dark hair and buck teeth extended a hand across from her. She had to move forward to be able to shake his hand.

“Circe van Astor, I’m afraid I don’t have any team sport titles to add to my name.” She added cheekily, and Theo snorted from next to her.

“You don’t play?” It was Circe’s time to snort.

“Gods no, I prefer singular sports.” Marcus leaned back against the couch and regarded her.

“ Like what?”

“Ballet, I am a trained ballerina.” Marcus burst out laughing in a fit of raucous laughter. It seemed he was alone in his laughter.

“Ballet is not a sport, far from it actually.” She raised an eyebrow, daring him, like a animal playing with it’s prey.

“ Sure,it is also an art but how do you define ‘a sport’?” She was having fun, the idiot seemed easy.

“ An activity involving physical exertion and skill.” He was catching on now, there was an edge to his voice.

Agnes van Astor, taught her from a young age, that who she was meant she did not back down in the face of anyone or anything, there was no space for her to be _weak_. She required so much space, her name, her persona, her magic all to large to be meek.

“And you think ballet does not involve physical exertion? I am just as much athlete as you are, perhaps even more—,” He interrupted her, shaking his head amused.

“Ha! You’ve got quite the imagination,”

“Excuse me? You fly around on a broom for an hour or two, I contort my body on my toes for three hours at least. Not only does that require endurance but it builds stamina. I could outrun you, I bet.”

“Pff,”

“No, I mean it.”

“Come on love, I get that you’re a pretty little dancer, but you’re also a _girl_ , you could not outrun me.” That was it, the last drop to fill the glass of annoyance the audacity of the buck toothed boy caused. 

“You fucker! Behave Flint!” Pansy huffed angrily.

Circe tensed up, if she liked one thing, it was proving people, almost always men, wrong. She leaned forward and watched Marcus get defensive at Pansy’s comments. Blaise had chimed in after a minute, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.

**I believe in you.**

**“** Let’s go. Let’s race.”

Control, Control, Control.

“Are you mad? It’s bloody quarter to ten, it’s freezing out…”

“Oh come on, you scared a _girl_ will beat you Captain?” She towered over him as he sat down on the couch and it gave an unexplainable rush of power.

* * *

And just like that, the Slytherins made their way surreptitiously through the castle onto the Quidditch pitch. Marcus was partially right, it was chilly but certainly not freezing. The pitch seemed boundless, tall wooden stands decorated in all the house colours which she learned by now. Green and silver, red and gold, yellow and black and blue and bronze. As she saw them all splayed out like that she wondered where her own sister would be sorted. Hufflepuff was the obvious choice. Just like her father indicated Slytherin was the obvious choice for her, and it truly was because here she was on the grassy pitch, moved by her immense sense of pride to a race. 

Cunningness was one of her house's traits, and to the oblivious attendant it would seem she was the unfavored one in the challenge, but after observing Marcus's uneven gait and basing herself of the assumption of a outlandish ego that needed bruising, she knew she wasn't.

Pansy walked over to her with Theo, from the entrance of the Quidditch pitch, rubbing her hands together and blowing over them.

“All this because you wanted to bum a cig off somebody? You’ve got some balls Circe, I like you,”

Theo shrugged offhis jacket and placed it silently around Circe’s shoulders, she offered him a smile in return. He truly was a gentleman, going to make someone really lucky one day. Pansy looked at the two of them and pointed to Marcus who was jumping up and down a small distance away from them.

“Yes but think of how rewarding that cigarette will be once I beat him,” Her devilish grin was back on.

Marcus was talking to another boy, who introduced himself as Graham something, and when he saw Circe approaching him, sharply stopped. She could swear she heard ‘fucking crazy bitch’ but oh well.

“Come to stop this nonsense?” Marcus stopped jumping and cracked his head sideways. He was so performative, as if stretching so much would mean something else if she lost. There was no magic, or hexing involved, both their wands were in their room, that was made sure of by Blaise, they would be settling her challenge the 'muggle way. Wandless magic was no bother to her, but she knew she wouldn't even need to attempt an unseen jinx.

“Nope, I’ve come to ask you what’s taking so long,” She stared right into his eyes, straightening her back.

Blaise had taken it upon himself to be a sort of conductor of sorts, the referee of their already blow out of proportion argument. He had even found a whistle.

“Oi!” He blew the whistle from the far end of the pitch.

“Marcus to my left, Circe to my right, when I blow this whistle, you will run from here to the other end where Astoria is and she’ll determine the winner. Understood?” Blaise addressed them both but winked at Circe and accepted Theo’s jacket as she shrugged it off.

At the end of the pitch Astoria stood next to Theo, Pansy and Draco, waving wildly.To her left, Marcus was stretching his neck and shoulders, and jumping up and down again. She had forlorn the idiosyncratic displays and opted to close her eyes and focus.

Marcus was taller than her and much more muscular so that would also slow him down. She had also not mentioned her performance in sports at Beauxbatons, specifically the sprinting club but oh well. And earlier, she had watched Marcus trip three times on their walk here.

To say less, she was confident.

“Ready…Set…”

One last inhale and she narrowed her eyes to the finish line where Astoria and the rest stood. 

“Go!” Blaise blew the whistle.

Immediately, Marcus began a violent sprint, keeping an ahead pace, but Circe was not an idiot—he would tire halfway. She wasn’t far behind him, but considerably lighter on her feet. They reached the middle of the field and now it was time to show Marcus how fast she really was. Her boots were weighing her down, not the best for running, but she choose to ignore them. Circe began moderately increasing her effort and pace by the second, and it took no less that two steps to run past him and maintain her advantage. She hadn’t even broken a sweat.

Ten more seconds or left and she would crash by them, too much adrenaline to stop gracefully. Their collective cheers encouraged her, and she went faster, long limbs doing the job for her. In that moment, on that quidditch pitch, the breeze running through her hair as she ran, she was transported momentarily to a place of happiness; she felt free. It was exhilarating.

With no surprise to herself, she flew past Astoria and almost fell down, but two arms held her back—Draco. He held her tight, quiet and as if she would dematerialise in front of him. A stray piece of his blond hair escaped and settled gingerly on his forehead. She reached out a tentative hand, and brushed it back, a gesture so private it amazed even her. 

“You’ve proved them wrong, congratulations,” As she was stable on her two feet, he released his hold on her. He strode off but she kept looking at him, stunned.

**You’ve proved them wrong.** And in that moment she knew, she knew and would know in the future that Draco Malfoy simply _understood._

Marcus ran past with a defeated look on his face and said no further words. Pansy sauntered to Circe, accompanied by her secret girlfriend, Theo and Blaise.She couldn’t see in the dark clearly, but as she came closer, the white stick she was fiddling with brought her a glimmering sense of elation.

“Open up, you wicked girl,” Circe parted her lips, and Pansy introduced the cigarette in-between them, shaking her shoulder as she did.

“Theo, will you do the honours?” Theo held his wand to the cigarette and a small flame erupted, Circe inhaled through her chest, and the deed was done.

“Does it feel any different?” Theo asked, as they were making their way back to the school. He had even offered his jacket again, but there was too much adrenaline pumping through her to need it.

“The cigarette, after winning,”

“Certainly, it tastes like chocolate cake,” Theo grinned, and dragged her along with the rest.

“You owe me a parchment and a cigarette,”

“As soon as you lot tell me where I can purchase things I will be debt-free.”

“Wicked girl, you owe me nothing.” That was a nickname she could enjoy, wicked girl, she tasted the sharp consonants on her tongue as she repeated it. Theo was beaming down at her, and in a future that is beyond her, she reminisces of moments like these, and she is amazed at how much of an idiot she is. She should have known from the very first day.

She turned around, Draco was walking with Tracey, but he was looking at her just as she was looking at him. The boy who offered her a secret and a berry tart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) I love Circe lol, also please leave comments I love answering  
> Hope you enjoyed<3  
> Song is Gold Rush by Taylor Swift


	5. Borderline insomnia and Slytherin colours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe can't really sleep, she has an interesting encounter with a certain someone and she settles a very inventive rumour.

_Vintage tee, brand new phone_

_High heels on cobblestones_

_When you are young, they assume you know nothing_

_Sequin smile, black lipstick_

_Sensual politics_

_When you are young, they assume you know nothing_

_But I knew you_

_[-]_

After spending another hour lounging on the couches sharing dalliances, any small attemptto sleep with that much energy and adrenaline coursing through her was fruitless. She tossed and turned, disturbing Phantom. Pansy had clocked out soon after and was sleeping soundly, and apparently she was not a light sleeper. The bed sheets felt sticky and uncomfortable under her body. She would need a charm to settle them later.

But it wasn't just the sheets. 

It was the newness of everything that was irritating, like an itch she couldn't scratch. New friends, a fucking dorm mate, new school, new robes, new everything and everything was too much. She recognised the feeling of suffocating, the feeling she thought she got rid of after Beauxbatons. The head teacher at Ilvermony, a certified mind healer, with a soft round face and crazy colourful robes, had called them panic attacks after she found her crying in a bathroom. She said the muggles had coined the term, Circe told her to fuck off and slipped her some of the gold in her pouch if she promised not to tell anyone. Bribery was a skill she picked up on early on, from her father of course, and as it was in human nature to be greedy, and Americans liked shiny things. The head teacher took the money from her and assured her it would remain private. Of course she was also a dumb fourteen year old. 

The papers called her insane the next day. Two days later the two publications had been bought by an anonymous French investor, had all of its employees fired and officially shut down a day after that. 

Agnes van Astor despised rumours, especially untrue ones. 

Night time was her favourite time, the dark, the anticipation for a new day, the silence—so why shouldn’t she make the best of the night in this castle.

So Circe van Astor found herself quietly getting out her bed, putting on a large shirt and the only available, shoes she had unpacked, her boots and slipped out of her stared dorm with Pansy. The common room was empty, save for a fat cat lounging on one of the couches wrapping itself in a discarded jacket. So she continued her creeping, not before, glancing at the grand big clock on the mantel—3:25 am.Her wand was in her right hand, and she cast a quick _Lumos_ to guide her way through the corridor.

All she wanted to do was run, smoke, drink, fuck, do something to release her mind. So she did, as soon as the large door closed behind her, she burst into a wild run. And she didn't care about the fucking noise or anyone else but herself and her running and her mind being preoccupied. 

It seemed as she was the only soul awake in this castle.

She stopped running and retraced the steps of Hermione and Draco’s tour finally finding herself, much colder and much more awake by now, at the door of the Astronomy Tower. Circe hesitated before opening the door, then with surprising ease pushed it open. It was unlocked because it had seemed someone had beaten her there.

Draco Malfoy sat flat on the ground staring at the stars. His head snapped towards her, clear he had spotted her immediately. He was ruthlessly quiet and she was alive, so on fire from all the running. She probably looked insane too. It took three deep breaths by the door to ground her and bring her back to the reality she was in. 

Circe moved towards him, until she was just about standing over him, in her large long sleeve t-shirt and messily tied boots.

He raised an eyebrow and looked up to look her in her eyes, before speaking. Gods, the disgusting thoughts that ran through her mind now, at the sight of him beneath her, eyes searching hers, were unstoppable. She wondered if his blemish free pale skin bruised easily.

“Hello, Circe,” Sleep clouded his voice making it more raspy than earlier.

“Hello, Draco,” She took itas an invitation to sit down next to him, laying flat on the stone, only to find it to be warm. The stars looked particularly inviting tonight.

One in particular that he probably knew the name of, glimmered brighter than the rest, proving herself in front of the others. It was comfortable silence, until she broke free of the stars to regard his side profile. He looked so regal, everything about him seemed to be in these clear, perfect, straight lines, not one feature on his face that looked like it didn't belong. And his lips, Gods, his lips were so plump and shapely, like they were drawn out.

They were so close, she could feel his body heat on her bare legs. She wasn’t cold. He exhaled, along drawn out breath and so did she. 

“ I didn’t have the chance to thank you for the tour today,” He turned his head and cool silver eyes met her green. Something in her, twisted and turned at the eye contact, and she didn't feel like herself. 

“You’re welcome,”

“I only remembered how to get here,”

“So, it wasn’t much of a useful tour,” He teased.

“ Depends on how you look at it, I knew where my favourite part was didn’t I?”

It was silent for a while longer, but it was peaceful. She kept her eyes fixed on the stars, blinking away a tear or two, and wondered if he was stealing glances to look at her like she was to look at him.

She remembered him. In her mind, she unfurled the memory from it’s tidy box, replaying it trying to catch another detail. Something to excuse that she hadn’t even recognised him on the train that morning, without exposing too much of herself. She had to cover her tracks.

“My cat! You played with my cat, Phantom and told me you were scared of dogs!” She exclaimed but as she tried to read his face, regret and anxiety clouded her thoughts.

“I was ten.” Circe burst out laughing and Draco shook his head.

“Why didn’t we meet anymore times after that?” He furrowed his eyebrows and regarded her curiously.

“We did though, two more times for tea. Then your family spent more time in France and our mothers grew apart,”

 _Fuck._ An idiot, she felt like a great big bludgeoning idiot. She couldn’t remember. Maybe Josephine would, she would write to her and ask.

“I remember your mother, she was sweet. Complimented my hair, Gods, the rats nest it was back then, and for my little ten year old heart, it had meant so much,”

“Mum is like that, always knows what to say,” It was so strange how his tone suddenly changed, more light and airy now. 

“So beautiful too, I remember and she didn’t shout after you like my mom used to,”

Silence fell over them again, like a thick blanket.

“Your hair _was_ beautiful—still is. The Malfoy’s don’t lie,” Circe was blushing but brushed it off. Truly, she didn't feel like herself-blushing at a compliment?

The van Astor’s lie, so many lies, they are hard to sift through and to discern real from fake. He didn’t have to know that.

“I was jealous of your hair. It was the complete opposite from mine, almost white. I remember thinking it was nicer than my sister's.”

Gods and how liberating that felt as a ten year old. Their whole life—Circe and Josephine’s , people and their family compared them, as they do with sisters and it was quietly deduced that in terms of beauty, Josephine would grow to be ethereal. But here was this boy and _he_ was ethereal. Even as a small girl, she could still feel how lacking she felt to stand next to him. Now, it was different, she grew into her features, as rare as they may be, and she knew who she was better, no longer an insecure mess.

“I was bullied for my hair when I first arrived at Hogwarts. In fact Theo started the rumour that I dye it—as a eleven year old! Now he is like a brother,” She found herself laughing with him, as if no time had passed between them, they were ten and sharing berry tarts with the house elves under tables.

“Gods, you must think I am horrible, for not remembering you at first. A right bitch,”

He turned his whole body to face hers now, and she did too. It was so easy with him, the walls were down and his seemed to be too.

“No, never. So much time had passed, I don’t expect anything of anyone.”

“Oh,”They seemed to draw closer with each exchange of words, like a string ran through them and pulled them close, each second that passed the space seemed smaller, and that string shorter.

“Theo won’t shut up about you,” And the moment was over.

“Oh?”

“You’ve captured his heart in between your hands in less than a day, he’s smitten.”

“Theo’s sweet.” He smirked, and his eyes looked at her lips for the slightest of seconds.

“That’s the thing, he isn’t. Dunno what changed.” It shocked her, how he did not speak in that pureblood way around her, in the way she emulated everyday. 

“I’ve bewitched him,” She was laying on her back again, it felt wrong to be so close to him now, talking about Theo.

His long legs were stretched out and it was now she realised he was wearing a knit jumper, and it looked home made. And mismatched socks. It was odd but comforting at the same time, she did nit know why.

“He drove Blaise and I mad, kept asking stupid questions, I said I’ll be a good friend and find out through Pansy, so, what is your favourite chocolate?”

“Are you serious?” A hint of a smile played on his face.

“It is not often I opt to be a good friend but Theo, he’s helped me through a lot, so yes,” Like what? She wanted to so desperately ask. Tell me a secret and I’ll share one back.

“Hazelnut bonbons, from Paris.”

“Pff, something more attainable?”

“If he isn’t willing to get my favourite chocolates from Paris, then I don’t want him.”She swore his eyes sparkled or gleamed in a way as he placed his hands under his head and smiled.

“Favourite book?”

“You can’t ask me to pick one…” She rose from the floor and was staring at him, holding her legs close to her chest, long hair enveloping her.

“Fair enough, favourite flowers?”

“Do you want an practiced answer or the truth?”

“Your pick,”

“Red roses, is the practiced answer, if I am to be courted, it’s the flower my mother suggests. But if I have a choice, then a bouquet of summer flowers—the more colourful and mismatched the better, daisies, peonies, anything,”

“Anything else Theo ought to know?” _That I should come with a warning sign, that I am a lot at times, that I have a lot going on in my head, and that I don’t think I’ll ever love,_ Circe thought bashfully.

“I’ll break his heart,”

* * *

Draco had insisted to walk with her back to the Slytherin common room, and they hadn’t been spotted by anyone.Though a portrait of a group of men did look at them funny. When she fell back into bed, Pansy was still sleeping soundly across the room, and she found herself drifting off quite easily. She always dreamt every night, and most of the time they were not pleasant and they left her dizzy the whole day.

But this time, she was ten again.

*

_She was under a table and her fingers were sticky. She went to lick one, but remembered she wasn't alone, the angel boy was with her. He wasn't an angel, but her aunt had gifted her a muggle book, a fairytale about a muggle who had to make many decisions. So an angel was sent to help her, and the angel boy fit her description, so she decided to call him angel boy. Dra-co looked like he could fly._

_"Can I have a berry tart?" He whispered._

_"Mimi can make more, but I guess you can have mine," He took it from her grubby little hands._

_"Why is your name Circe?"_

_"Why is your name Draco?" She retorted._

_"Because I am named after a constellation. Answer my question," He said very matter-of factedly, as if he was entitled to an answer._

_"Mother says I am named after one of the first_ _witches, after a very powerful woman,"_

_"Being named after a constellation is much cooler-,"_

_"It is not!" She almost hit her head on the table as she got riled up._

_"It so is! The dragon constellation,"_

_"Well...Circe would defeat your stupid dragon, with her, her," She was grasping for words to finish her thought. "With her magic and her power, which she has a lot of!"_

_He said nothing more, simply peered at her amusingly , while she pouted._ _A patter of small feet burst through and she knew Mimi was looking for them. Circe lifted one finger up to her lips, and motioned for him to not speak, until she did. Mimi stopped right in front of the table they were hiding after and for a minute they both held their breaths._

_Circe knew they were discovered, but Mimi walked off down the corridor, choosing to ignore them._

_Dra-co burst into a fit of laughter she soon joined in on._

_*_

“Wakey, wake sleeping beauty!” Pansy pounced on her bed, already dressed in the uniform, hair secured behind a headband.

“No…” Circe’s voice was raspy and coarse, maybe from talking so much with Draco, maybe from the lack of sleep. She didn't yet want to wake up from her dream.

“Breakfast starts in twenty minutes, I’ve let you sleep as long as I could,” She shifted across her pillow and noticed Astoria fixing her green tie in the mirror.

“Oh, morning Circe.” Astoria’s voice was cheery.

“Morning,” Circe thought she said but it came out as a strangled noise.

After stretching in bed for two more minutes, she decided the promise of coffee at breakfast was far more important than more sleep. She found her uniform skirt and shirt in her shelves, already mysteriously unpacked.

Circe looked at herself, in the same full-length mirror Astoria had fixed her tie in. The skirt fell to her mid-thigh, after she placed a tailoring charm on it, and she opted for matte black tights and anemblazoned cashmere sweater on top of her crisp uniform shirt.

“Ah, you suit Slytherin colours Circe,” Pansy smiled wistfully.

“Thank you, now, let’s go,”

The trio made their way of out of the girl’s dorm and into the common room, where Blaise, Theo and Draco were waiting for them by the door.

“Morning, ladies, you all look positively enchanting,” Blaise spoke first.

Circe looked at all of them, in their Slytherin ties and black robes, every part the handsome gentlemen.

Theo was looking right back at her, and his smile widened when they made eye contact. Draco’s hair was messier than last night, like he had aggressively run his hands through.

“Wish I could say the same Blaise.” Pansy said, and Blaise mimicked his heart exploding.

“You wound me Parkinson,”

“My goal accomplished, shall we get a move on fuckers?”

They all walked at more or less the same pace but Theo had found his way next to her, Draco next to him, looking ahead sternly.

“Green suits you wicked girl,” Theo walked proudly, shooting warning glances at kids who had nothing better to dothan whisper irrelevant rumours. A girl winked at him, and he glanced down at his legs, ignoring her.

Draco was right.

“Does it now?” Circe mused as they rounded a corner, watching the other students part as they walked through.

“Hmm, don’t you agree Draco?” Theo cocked his head towards Draco.

“Oh, certainly.”

* * *

Breakfast in the Great Hall consisted of a full English fry-up, with mushrooms and sausage. Circe nibbled on a piece of buttered toast, and hovered over a steaming cup of hot coffee. Besides her, Theo shovelled eggs into his mouth and spoke avidly indicating with his utensils.

“No, but what I am saying is that, Marcus Flint needed to get beaten at something so he could remove the stick out of his arse, and get off his high horse,” He drank a bit of his tea.“And the fact that, Circe who is new, beat him was the cherry on top—totally epic, wicked girl.”

She smiled at him over the rim of her mug. “Cheers,”

“Oi! What the fuck mate?” Marcus had apparently heard Theo’s opinionated exchanges from his seat far down at the Slytherin table.

“I’m right, maybe if you’ll let me on the team this year, you would have a chance of winning in front of Griffyndor but your loss!” Theo had spoken very passionately.

“Sod off, go snog your little girlfriend,”

Theo stood up fuming, ready to cause a scene. She watched Draco stand up next to him, whisper something in his year then they both sat down, Theo still shooting angry glares Marcus's way. So he had a temper, don't we all?

Marcus was a fucking sore loser. Circe snapped her fingers nonchalantly and Marcus mug of tea slipped off the table and into his lap. It looked like an accident but all of them laughed at his misfortune.

Tracey, the mouthy girl from earlier, aimed her words at Circe as she placed a sausage onto her plate.

“So, Circe, there’s some rumours of why you left Baxbatons—,”

“Beauxbatons, you pronounced it wrong. It’s a French name, I assume it can be quite hard for those who don’t speak,”

“ _Anyways_ , some people are saying you did the muggle white drug-cocaine and fucked one of your teachers in the bathroom, and you got expelled,” A fork loudly dropped onto a plate and it was Astoria’s accompanied by an open-mouthed expression.

Wrong van Astor to fuck a teacher, daddy beat me to it.

“That’s quite the inventive rumour Tracey, are you talking from personal experience? ” Tracey scowled and returned back to her plate.

“So sorry about that Circe,” Astoria reached across the table to squeeze her hand, still looking bewilderedly at Tracey who scowled as she cut up a sausage.

“Don’t fret, nothing I haven’t heard before,”

Time for class had come and she downed the rest of her coffee before Circe hurrying along to Charms with Astoria and Blaise who were in her class, and then to Potions with almost all of her new friends, save Tracey—Pansy mentioned she hadn’t gotten into the class due to her marks.She preferred Professor Flitwick as a teacher but Potions were far more interesting.

* * *

That night, Pansy, Astoria and her were all sitting on the couch in their dorm, discussing their families. Astoria and Pansy were interlocked together, and Astoria was running her hand softly through her girlfriend's hair. 

“I have a sister, Daphne, she’s older. Do you have siblings Circe?”

“A sister as well, younger,Jospehine, she’s at Beauxbatons,”

“Oh, don’t you miss her? I miss Daphne terribly.”

“I do, figure I’m gonna write to her later,”

“My mother wanted to send me to Beauxbatons, but my father always wanted Hogwarts,” Pansy spoke up, passing the pink bottle of sweet Witches’ Brew to Circe who took a sip, then another. "So here I am," She laughed dryly.

“Beauxbatons is lovely, up there in France,”She wished she could share more.

A knock sounded at the door and Circe, being closest to it, waved her wand and the door swung open, revealing Theo bundled up in a scarf and holding a pack of cigarettes. He leaned against the doorway and smiled, before settling on Circe with a grin.

“Ladies. Fancy a walk Circe?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is Cardigan by Taylor Swift


	6. N for Nott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe is not settling in so great, but find a great support system.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// discussion of mental health issues, unhealthy coping habits and possibly ED triggering description.

_I am the girl you know, can’t look you in the eye_

_I am the girl you know, so sick I cannot try_

_I am the one you want, can’t look you in the eye_

_I am the girl, you know I lie and lie and lie_

_I’m Miss World, somebody kill me_

_[-]_

_"_ Not too cold outside, hmm?" Theo spoke, pushing on the heavy wooden door, leading them into the grounds. She counted three rings on his right hand. Rings were a passion of her, she often wore many-gifts or heirlooms.

"Let me see your rings," They stopped in the archway, a sliver of the moon's light settling on the two. Circe gingery took his hands in hers,running her deft fingers over Theo's long ones. She traced the shape of a cursive 'N' wrought in silver. "N for Nott," She brought up her left handgun top of his, and pointed to her own family ring. Hers had her full initials, in a similar silver but decorated with diamonds and emeralds. "C,V,A, for Circe van Astor." And maybe it was the moment,theintimacy of it, two little snakes admiring each other in the pale moonlight, but he held her hand, and she certainly did not take it back.

“You must take lots of girls on walks,” She teased, breaking off whatever moment she thought they had to explore the outdoors at night. Their promenade around the grounds, was not yet breaking curfew but not far from it. She opted for a dark trench coat, to drape over her body. Theo, on the other hand, was much more casually bundled up.

“Only the wicked ones,” He offered her a cigarette which she gladly expected, lighting it up for her. Theo picked out his own cigarette. She looked up at him, at how his lips moved as he inhaled the toxic smoke, and puffed it to the side. 

The grounds were surprisingly peaceful at night. Theo seemed to know a small path, and they never strayed too far from the school, and their way was still illuminated faintly by all the torchlights peeking out windows.The only sounds were of their boots crashing against the grass, the beginning of dried autumn leaves, and the wind, full of the secrets that carried. 

That was a thing she'd read, speak a secret into the wind, to let go of it, to allow the wind to carry it's weight. Circe, wished the wind could take it all, all the stones in her heart, all the weight on her shoulders, but it didn't work like that; it never did. You only have yourself.

“You’re quite the charmer Theodore Nott.” Theo let out one of those booming laughs, that seemed to escape from the centre of his chest. Walking with him in the cool night was refreshing, he was a light-hearted escape from her thoughts. She pursued her lips and blew the smoke out, and it surrounded them. 

“How did you find your classes today?”

“You want the truth?” She ran a hand through her hair, ruffling it up. 

“Of course, I’ll gladly hear the truth,” 

_I hate the truth._

“Well, this is the fourth school I've attended, with four very different rigorous curricula, which means I’ve already covered majority of the areas we are covering in class.”

_And I've had tutors since I learned to read. This is a prison for me, not a place to get educated._

“Like what?” He asked, his tone changed, though perhaps she was reading too much into it.

“Felix Felics and Veritaserum were covered in my second year at Mahoukotoro, and I can already perform majority of non-verbal spells at my mother’s insistence, and so on,”

“Didn’t know you were quite so brilliant van Astor,” He remarked, looking down at her insistently. 

_He's making fun of you._

_He's making fun of you._

_He's making fun of you._

“Why is that? Did you read the fucking news, how Skeeter makes me out to be?" Her smile turned into a sneer quickly. "I’m a van Astor, Theo, I don’t have much choice. Magic is my blood, it's my birthright. _Power_. It is a formality for me to be in school.” Later, when she would be in bed, overthinking everything that came out of her mind, her defensiveness felt futile, but it wasn't. Circe van Astor had to prove them all she shouldn't be underestimated.

She had to prove her parents, that she was more van Astor than the both of them.

She had to prove her sister, that this is what she would be, no matter how hard she tried to fix her.

She had to prove her friends, she had to prove the world, that she was more than worthy, more powerful, more calculated, more precise and more resilient than they thought her to be, or not to be. 

It was heavy.

“I didn’t mean it _that way,”_ She stopped and set her jaw to look him right in the eye, as if he was nothing more than a nuisance. He didn't deserve her flare ups, she didn't want him to see them, how they came and went.

How she was never in control.

“Well, it sure sounded like you did!”

Circe threw the cigarette butt down into the ground and abruptly turned around to make her way back into the castle, sick of annoying little boys.They were all the same in the end.

“Circe! Come on, Circe!” She was walking very fast but Theo still managed to catch up with her, jogging in front of her backwards. Circe rolled her eyes.

“Let me walk you back, please.”

“I’ll manage,”

A breath caught in her throat, the feelings were all resurfacing. No, she couldn’t have an episode here in front of him.She arrived at the open door and took a sharp right, away from the Slytherin dungeons. Her instincts were awake now, she had to run, run far away from it all. 

“Circe!” He wasn’t following her anymore, and she felt grateful. Her breathing picked up now, and came out in shallow ragged breaths, and she could already feel how fast her heart was beating in her chest. 

A bathroom.

A bathroom. She needed a bathroom. A room, anything.

A grunt and she collided into a body, Hermione. Loathing the impulses she had, but even more than that loathing, she abhorred the fact that she had to ask someone for help.

_Run_.

_Run_.

_Run_.

“Hey, are you ok?” Hermione placed a hand on her shoulder, as if they were friends and she was trying to calm her; Circe shrugged it off. She saw Hermione's eyes widen and flinch at her action. 

Gods, she must have looked insane, tears streaming down her cheeks, mascara along with it.

“Bathroom, please, now,” It was all she managed to choke out with a sob.

“Yeah, yes, here,” Hermione ran her to the nearest bathroom, which turns out was not that far. Circe burst through the door of one of the stalls, and her mother’s voice rang through her brain.

_Remember who you are._

She raised a hand to stop Hermione’s worried rambling about a nurse and potions.

“Go.”

“Please just tell me what happened,”

_Nothing fucking happened Hermione, this is me, a pretty little mess,_ she wanted to shout. 'Pretty little mess' was what her friend Emma nicknamed her, though in French it sounded much better- _jolie petite désordre_. Emma was also the one that acquired muggle narcotics for her, mostly 'coke' and funny little pills. 

She wished she had Emma and her happy little pills to make the world colorful and frizzy. But she wasn't at Beauxbatons anymore, she was collapsing on the cold stone floor of Hogwarts, and there was no Emma, just Hermione who clearly did not have any happy little pills. 

“No. Leave,” The words muddled together. Hermione gave her one last worried look, as if she was trying to penetrate her mind, and left, softly shutting the door behind her. 

And with that, she leaned over the toilet seat and shoved her fingers deep down her throat. Twice, three times, until nothing came out. It wasn't about the food, it was about feeling empty for a while, weightless, as if she was a mere feather floating in air. 

She sat down on the same cold floor, and sobbed, small kitten sobs, she tried to muffle with a silencing charm. She was fourteen again, bleeding in an alleyway, she was twelve and hiding in a closet from her mother, she was eleven and watched them present Josephine to friends, she was ten and the 'angel' boy ate her berry tart. All the thoughts fluttered through her mind, and she tried to pinpoint the one, not a happy one, but the one when it all went to shit. When 'happy' and 'playful' were no longer her default settings. When she became 'my older sister' not the 'best older sister one could ask for', when she became a 'dissapointment' not a 'driven, cunning young lady to be'. 

Circe wanted to shout as the door opened, to shout at Hermione for being an insufferable trollop, unable to follow the simplest of requests but it wasn’t Hermione. And her voice was too raw to even dare attempt to use it.

But it was Pansy who burst through the wooden stall, and sat down next to her on the cold floor.

Circe opened up her mouth to speak, yet nothing came out.

“No, you don’t have to tell me anything. I’m just here," And so Circe van Astor allowed herself to be held, and accepted that maybe she didn’t always have to clean up her messes by herself.

Not all people ran away. Like she did.

* * *

The walk back to the dungeons was a gift, to be able to come up with a story, and to clear up her blotchy red face. Pansy had simply hugged her on the ground there and said nothing more. They stayed there until no more tears fell, and until her breathing had returned to normal. It was Pansy who cast a Cooling Charm to get rid off the red of her face.

“Pansy, what you saw, I—,”

“What did I see? I saw nothing." She nodded knowingly. "I went to find you because you got lost.”

The two of them stopped in front of the entrance to the common room, and Circe was speechless, so she just squeezed Pansy’s hand. Saying the password was left up to Pansy, and they both burst through the door, Pansy even continuing a conversation theydid not have.

“And I’m telling you Circe, it’s a big castle, took me years to know my way around. I dunno what you were thinking running off like that…” She finished it off with a realistic laugh.

“Suppose I wasn’t thinking much,” She played into Pansy’s script as they passed the two couches, occupied by Theo, Draco and Tracey. As soon as the girls walked past, Theo stood up and tried to approach them.

Pansy shook her head as a protective warning but Circe’s death glare should have been indicator enough. She fibbed, a little white lie that she had gotten into a misunderstanding with Theo, and it had caused her to remember something from her past. It wasn't a total lie, Theo was little less than a trigger, the mess was hers.

Tracey scoffed and she briskly looked at her, surprisingly laying her head on Draco’s shoulder, bare legs thrown over his lap. Briefly, she allowed herself to look at him, the same unreadable expression but somehow much more arrogant as he raised one eyebrow, then looked away. She didn't have the energy to deal with the blond witch, but apparently Pansy did.

"You have something to say Tracey?" 

"Not to you, Pansy, though you've been pretty busy kissing up to the van Astor's ass," Pansy hand tightened on her wand, and she knew she could easily point at her face and hex her skin off. Circe's own eyes widened in amusement, and she sauntered across the common room to the couch Tracey was laying on Draco with. 

Tracey looked up at her, a look of fear, and expectancy on her face. Gods, did she think she was going to fight her?

"I'll be frank with you Tracey, its Tracey right?" The blonde witch rolled her eyes, and slowly nodded. "Right, you should do well to remember who I am. Just because I haven't done anything about your blabbering mouth, doesn't mean I can't." Long, black painted nails, toyed tauntingly with the witches flowing hair, she wasn't moving. And Circe pulled, hard, her roots, not hard enough to hurt her, but hard enough to get her hair to tilt backwards against her hand. She bent down, to her ear, and whispered very slowly and lightly. "Play with fire, you might just get burnt."

* * *

The corridor to the girl’s dorm was empty and dark. At least Pansy was there walking ahead, both their boots making the only sounds. She watched her flick the door open and immediately went to scoop up Phantom in her arms.

“Want me to go get some tea for us, love?” Circe nodded.

Phantom purred softly in her lap, and she laid down on her bedholding him close to her chest.

“You and me against the world Phantom,” Phantom opened his eyes and closed them, as if in agreement.

Remembering her sister’s letter from earlier, she busied herself with a piece of parchment and a quill, and began penning a response.

_Dear Josephine,_

_I’m going to be frank, your letter made me cry, and on the morning of my first day of classes nonetheless. Don’t take this a sign to stop writing, I look forward to Aphrodite arriving with a letter from you wherever I was in the world. I miss Mimi’s berry tarts—nothing will ever compare._ _Mimi also knows how to pack, Ive got everything I need and more. Mimi also went to the trouble to fit two gowns into my luggage if I ever intended to ditch my uniform for a floor length corseted gown._

_I do wish we had more time to say goodbye, but we will see each other soon! I hope Timothy isn’t pestering you at school, and if he is, tell him you heard nothing from me. Ever._

_I was a bit of bitch with how I ended it with him, but what’s new?_

_How are you? How is school? How is Madame Adeline? Do send her my best, she was my favourite teacher ever._

_Also, tell me any new pieces you learn for ballet and I’ll try to keep up here in Scotland so we can practice together at home._

_Miss you loads._

_Bucket-loads of love, hugs and kisses,_

_Anything but ‘Circey-bear’_

She waited for the ink to dry for a second then charmed it to be tied to Aphrodite’s leg, and watched as her owl left her spot on the windowsill and flew off into the night. Alongside, Jo’s lettershe attached the one she had written Timothy the previous day but had forgotten to send him.

Just as she was shutting the window, Pansy re-entered their room, two steaming mugs in hand.

“Sorry for the wait, I had to pop by Astoria’s because I realised halfway once the kettle was boiling, that I had no tea.”

__

Gratefully, Circe accepted the overflowing mug, and charmed a sugar cube into it. On the other side of the room, Pansy was fiddling with her pillows, before plopping down on the bed with a grunt.

"Sorry about Tracey,"

"It was nothing really, just a bit of good old fashioned fun,"

"It was fucking astonishing seeing you talk to her that way, you should have seen her face when we left," Pansy lifted up her eyebrows and parted her lips, mimicking Tracey.

“Oh! Did I tell you about the party this weekend?” Circe’s ears perked up at the word party.

“I’m afraid you did not,”

“Well, this is me telling you. Slytherin common room, Friday night, all Slytherins invited that are over 16 and some other people from other houses. We’ve been planning it since summer, it’s gonna be insane,” Pansy almost spilled her tea from excitement, while Circe was already deep in thought planning an outfit.

“Is there a theme or a dress code?” She sat the mug on her nigh stand and got busy unlacing her boots.

“Gods no, we’re all sick of the formal events we’ve been dragged by our parents to all summer.” Pansy was levitating a charms textbook in front of her and flipping pages.

“Well, I’m in,”

“Of course you are, you’re my dorm mate and I’m basically planning this whole thing,”

* * *

Sleep was not easy. In fact, Circe didn’t expect to sleep through this night either after such a tumultuous day. The episode augmented her lack of sleep into facing borderline insomnia. Everything seemed wrong, and the intrusive thoughts wore away at her mind.

_Pansy seeing her like that, weak, messy, pathetic._

_Letting somebody’s words get to her, weak, messy, pathetic._

_Hermione seeing her like that and probably blubbering her mouth to her whole house, weak, messy, pathetic._

_Circe van Astor, remember who you are._

So she left the dorm room, whose walls seemed like they were closing in on her, and Pansy’s posters looked at her in disgust. Phantom was still asleep in her arms when she padded through the common room and collapsed on a couch. Circe stared at the arches and details of the ceiling until sleep The leather of the couch was uncomfortable under her bare skin, her night-gown only covering so much, but the open space put her at ease. She pulled her legs under her and without much thinking she fell asleep then and there, in a position that was guaranteed to provide her with cramps in her neck and shoulders.

The sleep was dreamless, like an empty void for her thoughts to rest, and it almost feltsurreal until her nose picked up on a flowery scent and she felt the couch dip next to her. A warm hand on her shoulder, startled her and she opened her eyes.

Astoria.

“Morning love, Theo told me you crashed out here,” Astoria craned her neck so she could see Theo behind her—messy hair and pyjama pants, full morning glory. She almost smiled at him.

“And I was wondering, if you wanted to join me on a run. It is a beautiful morning, not too cold, and the Sun is out.” Circe rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, smiling wildly and petting Phantom.

It would be another outlet, to clear her thoughts just like ballet was.

“Alright, yeah. I’d love to,” Astoria burst out in joy and got up from the couch. She was wearing short running shorts and a thick vest on top of a long sleeve.

“You can wear those shorts from earlier, you won’t be cold trust me.” 

Pansy was still fast asleep as she rummaged through her trunk, looking for that one skin tight black shirt Mimi was certain to have packed. Finding it, she assembled her outfit, and found herself, like always dressed in all black. Her running shoes had been cleaned of the mud they were usually caked in from hours wandering the estate back home with Josephine.

It was six thirty am by the time she had changed and tied her hair in a tight ponytail. Circe wondered if Astoria had a stretching routine, or if she just ran.

“You ready?” More early risers filed in the common room, Theo was reading a book on the couch while a blonde girl talked next to him. His head shot up as her and Astoria walked past.

“Wait, Astoria, where do we stretch?” Astoria zipped up her vest and tilted her head.

“I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother anyone here, we could stretch in the hallway…”

A devilish smirk graced Circe van Astor’s lips.

“Nonsense. Theo!” The boy’s head shot up from his book,“Are Astoria and I bothering you and your girlfriend if we stretch for a bit here?”

“Uh,no,’ He said, coughing, with a surprised look on his face. Theo moved to say something else but Circe had already begun her lunges, Astoria following suit.

They moved from lunges to squats to one-legged splits to full splits. If she closed her eyes, she was back home in the ballet studio crushing her toes into her ballet shoes so she could live for a an hour or two with the music.

“Gods, how are you so flexible Circe?” Astoria was struggling with a front split and effectively stopped and helped Circe off the floor.

“Practice makes perfect.” She winked.

The caramel haired girl led them through the castle’s corridors until they reached the grounds outside where they began a slow jog. Every few minutes, one of them would increase their pace until they were almost flying through the outside of the school. Astoria took a sharp right and suggested they run their last set of laps around the Quidditch pitch. She suggested this smiling mischievously and Circe suspected the Greengrass sister had a trick or two up her sleeve.

And Gods was she right.

Maybe it was a coincidence, or maybe it was deliberate, but the Quidditch field was occupied but not one team but two. Hufflepuff and Gryffindor split the field down the middle and were doing drills, but as soon as the two of them arrived on the open green, heads turned and exercise was ceased. 7 am promised shirtless boys apparently.

“Cedric!” Astoria waved toa handsome boy who jogged up to the of them, messy brown hair sticking up at odd angles.

“Hey!” He was out of breath yet still managed to smile at Astoria, before turning to Circe.

“I don’t think we’ve met yet… I’m Cedric Diggory.” He extended a hand and flashed a winning smile.

“Circe van Astor.” She shook his hand and reciprocated his smile. If only Josephine could see how sweet she was being.

“ We’re not disturbing you Cedric? If we run a few laps around the pitch?” Cedric took a while before answering Astoria’s question, still entranced by Circe.

“No, no, of course not. I’m sure Angelina won’t mind either,” Astoria would latertell her that Angelina Johnson was Gryffindor’s captain, and Cedric was Hufflepuff’s.

So the two girls were off, sprinting around the field and laughing wildly when one of the guys on the team tried to pull a stunt to impress them. Even Cedric seemed to stand straighter and look more authoritative, when they ran past his side of the pitch.

“He’s a huge sweetheart that one, quite a looker too” Astoria said, running closer to Circe.

“Who?”

“Cedric… you saw the way he was looking at you, Gods, Circe,” Astoria grinned, Circe said nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, this is a bit of a heavy chapter. I deal with panic attacks, and my mental health and in those moments I wish someone would be there, not to do anything, just to be there, so I wanted to show that in my writing. Circe is an extremely hurt individual, with things in her past that are horrible, and she won't show it, but you'll see it in a lot of her actions-impulsivity, recklessness, selfishness, these are all coping mechanisms. So I ask of you, to be patient with Circe and to know I plan to show her character development. Hopefully she won't remain an icy bitch forever!
> 
> Writing is therapeutic for me, especially implementing things I struggle with, or things I have witnessed, so yeah. :)
> 
> Song is Miss World by Hole <3


	7. Everything before the Slytherin party and the 23rd marriage proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet a certain Hufflepuff captain once more that now seems to be very taken with our little snake, and preparations for the party that night begin. 
> 
> Oh and Circe receives her 23rd marriage proposal by letter, fun!

_Primadonna girl, yeah_

_All I ever wanted was the world_

_I can’t help that I need it all_

_The prima donna life, the rise, and fall_

_You say that I’m kinda difficult_

_But it’s always someone else’s fault_

_Got you wrapped around my finger babe_

_You can count on me to misbehave_

[-]

Classes passed seamlessly, with Circe turning in an charms essay on an advanced non-verbal charm that made Professor Flitwick marvel with joy, and as she was heading to her last, and most dreaded lesson of the day—Herbology, she heard her name being shouted.

“Circe! Circe, yes hi,” Cedric Diggory wove through the throngs of students carefully, shouting apologies as he manoeuvred by small children.

“Hi, Cedric, are you ok?” He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled loudly.

“Sure, of course yeah. You have Herbology now, right?” Cedric had a dimple in his left cheek which revealed itself with each smile. He truly was so handsome in the classic meaning of the word.

“Memorizing my schedule now Diggory?” She said, a hint of mischievousness in her tone.

They had spoken once or twice in the halls before he was pulled away by his friends, and vice versa, and in their stared classes, the Hufflepuff captain did his fair share of gawking. He was nice to talk to, gentle and cautious but nevertheless, _nice._ She associated him with a lukewarm cup of tea, not piping hot enough to burn you, not cold enough to be unpleasant.

“Ha, I make observations. Did you do something different with your hair? It looks pretty.”

“Thank you, nothing different no.” In fact, she had done, absolutely nothing to her hair that day when she woke up, simply left it to it's own devices. Pansy suggested a headband, but she wasn't a headband type of girl. 

“Ah, so you’re just always this pretty,” They passed through an archway and Cedric held the door open for her.

“You’re sweet.” Cedric stumbled on a rock, but caught himself quickly, balancing himself against the wall.

“You’re sweeter.” Circe recognised the breezy air of flirtation around them as they found themselves outside the Herbology green house. His robes fluttered behind him as a gust of air blew through—golden yellow threaded through black, while hers did not move, Serpent very visible on her chest.

Green and yellow. Spring and autumn.

“Gah, you’re gonna make me puke,” He laughed and she watched the corners of his eyes as they crinkled. “I actually wanted to ask you something. What are you doing tonight? Say around eight-ish?”

“Dunno, homework probably,” He answered lightly, turning sideways so a Gryffindor could enter. A Gryffindor she immediately recognised-Hermione, who stopped for a moment, perhaps contemplating if she should approach the Slytherin. The moment passed and she took a seat in the far end of the class.

“Nonsense. You’re coming to the Slytherin party, as my guest, of course.”

“Circe…I don’t know…” He scratched the back of his head, and looked around. Circe took it as an opportunity to fiddle with his tie, it was fairly intimate and startled him clearly.

“Come on… You know me, Astoria, I saw you talking to Blaise a few days ago. And I can guarantee you’ll have fun.” She tugged on his tie, bringing him close enough to whisper in his ear. 

He was just on the edge of being convinced, she could tell.

“Look, I am inviting you but you can bring a friend if you want. And you don’t have to give me an answer now, you have time to think it over,”Cedric nodded and they entered Herbology, to a wide eyed Professor Sprout who had possibly witnessed their encounter outside her class.

* * *

Pansy had transformed into a extremely bossy version of her persona, and was shouting at fourth years on how to properly handle liquor. Theo, and his two dorm mates, Blaise and Draco, the latter which Circe had to convince herself she did not want to kiss, were lounging about the common room.

“And you two bloody idiots, you drop one more bottle and I swear I’ll hang you by your balls from the ceiling!” The short girl collapsed onto Circe’s lap dramatically with a loud sigh. The van Astor heir had to bite her tongue from laughing.

“Did I tell you who I invited tonight?” Pansy opened her eyes, Circe continued playing with her hair.

“I'mstarting to get worried. The boys already invited the whole of the female population at Hogwarts.”

“Hey! You implying something Parkinson?” Blaise stood up, pointing to the other two boys, “We have nothing but good intentions,” He walked over to the fireplace, and fiddled with the lights Pansy dropped around the stone.

“Yeah, good intentions to get your dicks sucked!” Pansy joked making Blaise groaned.

“You’re impossible Pansy, we merely want to socialise,”

“Socialise your dicks in their mouths…” Pansy muttered under her breath. Circe couldn't contain herself anymore and doubled over in laughter. The boys hadn't heard so it was just the two of them laughing to themselves, earning strange looks. 

“Who did you invite Circe?” It was Theo who asked, a pawn in hand, that he had won from Draco in their drawn out chess match. He had apologised for his words, and she forgave him, but she did not forget. Yet she couldn’t resist his charm and she almost felt bad she invited a boy to the party; almost. It's not like anything had happened between them. 

“Cedric Diggory.”

The chess game stopped, they were all looking at her.

“Since when are you friends with Diggory?” Theo’s eyes narrowed and his tone became insipid.

“We’re in the same Herbology class and Astoria had introduced us earlier." She took in the scene, as if all of them were holding their breath. Theo seemed the most perturbed. "What’s wrong with me being friends with him?” She raised her eyebrow in challenge.

“There’s nothing wrong, he’s just a fuck—,”

“Oi! Ced’s a good guy.” Blaise threw a pillow at Theo’s head but managed to knock the chess board off of the table. Draco was clearly annoyed at that, or perhaps something else.

In a white blur, Aphrodite flew into the common room, and landed on the fireplace mantel, two letters attached to her scaly leg. Circe got up from her seat on the couch to retrieve them. The first she recognised immediately, the blue seal and the slight flowery scent—Josephine, but the second was messily bent, a piece of dark parchment, she had to open to decipher its sender. Aphrodite tutted and Circe gently caressed her beak, before charming a treat for her. 

_Dearest, Circe,_

_Forgive this pouring of my heart—_

“Gods, no.” She cringed at Timothy’s words but soon she found herself laughing.

“What?” Pansy shook her head questioning.

“My _friend_ , Timothy which I had to end things with, is not quite taking our end well.”

“Timothy, my Timothy?” Blaise grinned. “Well, go on, give that here, we can all do with a good laugh. Always was a sensitive muck that one.”

“Read it out loud,” Pansy perched on the sofa, peering over Blaise’s shoulder, ever the nosey one.

He stood, made a big show of unfolding the quite lengthy letter, then cleared his throat.

“ _Dearest Circe, forgive this outpouring of my heart—or what is left of it, but I cannot simply forget you Circe how you asked me to. The way your breasts fit perfectly into my hands or the way you—,”_ Blaise burst out in a boisterous laugh, so did all her friend group except Draco who seemed to be regarding her curiously. She screamed at the mention of her breasts, and hoped that was it making reference to their exploits. 

“Gods, please no! Pansy make it stop!” She cringed with her head in her palms.

“No, no, I wanna see what you did to this fellow, go on Blaise.”

Blaise cleared his throat again before beginning, pausing for a moment to laugh.

“ _The way you tasted haunts me, and ruins me for any other—,”_ She wasn't embarrassed at that one, just curious at to how this letter about effectively sex, was going to make her change her mind. 

_“_ Circe! Now you have some things to share with the girls later!” Circe winked at Pansy.

“- _woman. I close my eyes and I see you, I open them and I see you. Ive tried talking to Josephine but she brushes me off, so I resorted to writing to you. I wish to travel to your Estate these holidays and ask for you hand in matrimony, for I believe—,”_ Blaise’s eyes widened, and they were all staring at her.

"Is he serious?" Theo said. "What the fuck Circe?" 

“Oh piss off. My mother will bite his head off before he has a chance to speak. Timothy would become my 23rdproposal since I was six.”

“Are your serious?” Pansy paled. It seemed like they forget who she was, she wished she could as well, but her name and legacy are brandished painfully into every inch of her being.

“I wish I wasn’t! Is that it?” Blaise shook his head and it was her turn to groan.

“ _I believe you and I are meant to be, we are written in the stars for all to see. You cannot stop me. Circe you remain in my thoughts with outmost passion. Yours fully and truly, Timothy Beaufort.”_

Pansy’s continued to stare at the letter as if it would burst into a pile of confetti and announce it was a joke. She ran a hand through her hair, and pointed at a smug-looking Draco, then Circe.

“You two, you two are wicked heartbreakers. I don’t know how you do it, both of you, but it is astonishing. Last year Draco broke up with six girls by forcing Theo to tell them, and you Circe, this poor guy—,”

“I beg to differ! I let him down slowly, much nicer than I would have in any other circumstances,”

“It’s not that, it’s like you get off on it, like it’s a game playing with people’s hearts like this.”

She regarded Draco and he mirrored her devilish grin, legs spread arrogantly wide as he settled on the sofa next to her, abandoning his chess game. Their knees touched, ad yet she did not pull back, instead Draco lay a tantalising hand on her right knee—and squeezed. It didn't faze her, and later Pansy would remark how similar they had been in that moment, how their lips curled in the same way, how they were relaxed but always with that same posture. How their eyes were 

“And we always come on top, we play to win.” He traced a shape onto her skin, a capital ‘D’. An all-knowing look passed between them, and they were ten again trading secrets under tables, purple streaks of berry buttercream lazily plastered on their cheeks, and in that brief moment in the common room, a memory floated back towards her.

Draco Malfoy had been her first kiss. And he tasted like berry tarts. 

* * *

Time passed suspiciously fast in the Slytherin dungeons, and right when the clock struck 6, a flurry of girls burst into the Parkinson-van Astor dorm demanding heels and liners and tights. Circe had picked her outfit the night before, and excitement was too little of a word to describe how she felt about wearing it. The Slytherin girls had all agreed on a general theme in their outfits, suggested by Astoria—lingerie. Well, obviously they wouldn’t parade themselves in their undergarments but more refined, classier versions, to a certain extent. Though for others (a certain Tracey Davis and even Circe if the moment is right) parading around in undergarments didn't seem like a problem

Astoria was gathering her hair in a tight ponytail, loose blue lace camisole top flowing past a short skirt, matching with Pansy’s silver top, that was threaded with blue. Another girl, who apparently was Astoria's dorm mate, Rosamund opted for just a red bra under a men’s white button-down and a pair of Circe’s boots. She didn't mind sharing, Rosamund could keep the boots if she wanted, buying more would be her pleasure.

But it was Circe who really effortlessly wore her clothes. The straps of the black night-gown were thin and most of it was lace anyways, paired with a see-through tight long sleeveunderneath, and nothing more, she was really playing to win tonight. Her legs, defined by years of ballet and running away from her problems, were covered slightly by a pair of black socks and this time, unlike the train, connected to two very visible lace garters on both legs. Pansy suggested the letting her hair hang wild and free. So she took her on her suggestion, feeling it grazing her waist. 

“Rosamund can you do my eyeshadow next?” Astoria spoke, bobby pin in-between her lips. Rosamund lifted her head from where she was battling with the pair of boots, and nodded, her black kinky curls bouncing with her.

“Are you sure Cedric is coming tonight Circe?” Pansy asked.

“Are you underestimating my powers of convincing?”

“No, I am underestimating his courage to step into the serpent’s den…you saw Theo’s reaction, he's been like that for forever,”

“If the boys are allowed to invite half the school’s female population, then I suppose I am permitted one guest. Plus I told him he could bring a friend if he wishes,” She popped open the cap of her maroon lipstick. “Think he mentioned a cousin, Muriel something,”

“Muriel Paddington?” Rosamund added, before falling back onto Circe’s bed, the tight boots seemingly wore her out.

“Mhm,”

“Draco’s number one fan that one,” Pansy commented, crinkling her nose.

“Oh?”

“She’s always had a thing for him, and I think the whole school knows. Draco never really spared her a second glance, poor thing she seems sweet.” Circe filled in her bottom lip with the dark red shade, and popped her lips loudly.

“All the more reason for Cedric to come, to be a good wingman and all,” Rosamund snorted and supported herself on her elbows.

“I heard a little rumour Circe, about your lover-boy,” Astoria walked past Rosamund who seemed to be dying to share.

“Go on then,”

“ I heard," The girl pushed herself off the bed. " that Cedric Diggory is a virgin.” The three girls gasped. Rosamund pursed her lips and salaciously smirked.

“There’s no way, Roz, there’s no way.” Astoria had a hand to her chest, mouth agape. “He’s the sweetest, plus wasn’t he together with that girl who graduated? Daisy…Daisy Caldwell.”

“Even if he were a virgin, there’s no shame in that!” Circe defended Cedric, working through her state of shock. She certainly wasn't a virgin. 

“You always have the worst gossip Roz, remember when you said Astoria is actually Daphne but with shorter hair, retaking school because she flunked out,” Rosamund raised her hands in the air, beginning to protest. “Or when you said Theo slept with that muggle last Christmas, that was a literal statue Roz,” Pansy continued while Roz pouted.

“Have you ever seen Astoria and Daphne in the same room—,”

“Gods! Roz! You were invited to dinner at our house on numerous occasions!” A stunned Astoria spoke, “Cedric Diggory is not a virgin and I'm not believing a word you say from now on.”

Circe settled on petting Phantom as she waited for the girls to finish up their looks, already hearing the loud bass music coming from the common room. Phantom extended his paws and cheekily lifted his tail up and down, but still loudly purring.

The Slytherin girls had agreed on the period of thirty minutes before descending into their fashionably late entrance, and they were buzzing with anticipation, first party of the year and all. Now, they passed Circe’s flask around taking tentative sips. It was filled with just firewhiskey, the aged cherry Japanese kind that was probably impossible to get in Scotland. Circe gulped, the liquor burned a path through her throat painfully so she could feel it in her stomach, the satisfying type of pain. It reminded her of London, and that hurt. Hurt could always be forgotten through pain and pleasure, and one knows there is a very fine distinction between the two.

What happened before and after London, _hurt_ , what she could do now was either forget or turn that _hurt_ , those molecules of pure hurt in her body into something far grander than it. _Power_ , harnessed through _control_.

If Agnes van Astor could see into her thoughts right now, she probably would be proud.

_Fuck her then, let's give her more things to not be proud of_ , Circe thought, already thinking of what the night had in store for them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AND let the games begin, in the next chapter lol. This initially was an almost 7000 word chapter I split into 2 so yeah lol.  
> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is Primadonna by Marina and the Diamonds


	8. I don't give a damn about my reputation say the two little snakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Party timeeeeee and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super rich kids by Frank Ocean ft Earl Sweatshirt or the song that inspired me to begin this!!
> 
> TW// light drug and alcohol use, and discussion of more hard narcotics.

_Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce_

  
_Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms_

  
_The maids come around too much_

  
_Parents ain't around enough_

  
_Too many joy rides in daddy's Jaguar_

  
_Too many white lies and white lines_

  
_Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends_

[-]

“Alright ladies, it’s time.” Circe looked each one of them in their eyes, Pansy winked, and opened the door to their dorm. The music hit her first like the tidal wave of a tsunami, loud and filling everypore of her body. She ran a hand through tousled waves, and felt for the ring on her pinky finger, as if it burned through her. Time to make that van Astor name be disgusted. It was a shame none of her exploits tonight would reach the ears of her parents, Slytherins were very careful. And they had to be, Pansy's father worked on classified work at the ministry, Theo's family had built a name for themselves with a family business that spanned decades, and Draco, well, he was a Malfoy. Just like she was a van Astor. She wouldn't admit it to her mother, but she wasn't as clueless as she made her out to be, she knew she had to be their heir, but that didn't mean she could do it on her own terms. 

Circe didn’t recognise the song playing but she didn’t need to, to already feel it in her system. Taking the lead down the stairs , she had to stop herself to admire Pansy's work, and how much it amazed her. Loud music, the common room packed with bodies either dancing or having numerous sorts of fun, green flashing lights coated everyone sickeningly—Pansy had outdone herself. The couches in the middle of the room were occupied by their boys and surprisingly Cedric, smiling next to Blaise. Also next to Blaise was a ethereal looking blonde girl, whose hair tumbled over the couch with flowers braided in. She reminded her of a woodland nymph, the sort that nibbled on soft apples and helped animals. There was a table in the corner where you could get alcohol, she knew this because Pansy asked her to donate something from the stash under her bed for it. In fact Parkinson had asked each of the older Slytherins to donate something. Theo had been the most generous, having his older brother send a crate of a bunch of fun things. 

“Oi! Ladies, I, er,what the fuck?” It was the first time she had seen the usually confident Blaise stumble over his words. Circe smirked, feeling more and more accomplished as she glanced around her friends.She dramatically posed next to the girls, running her hands up and down her body parting her lips ever so slightly as she did.

Even under the lights, she could see Cedric blushing, nervously looking around, while Theo looked smug as he leaned back into the couch, puffing on something that was definitely not tobacco. Draco looked her up and down, from next to a redhead dressed in pink. Cedric was her guest sure, but she preferred her house mates reactions best. 

“We’re all so fucking hot, look at them,” Pansy whispered in her ear and drew her away from the couch to the makeshift dance area next to them. Before she forgot, she took Rosamund’s hand and pulled her along. The girl needed some cheering up.

Apparently someone in Slytherin was very very accustomed to muggle music and getting plastered in muggle clubs since she was 15 meant Circe secretly was as well. The first song was a high tempo dance song, which made everyone jump and go wild. Rosamund turned out to be a dance freak, providing not only crazymoves but entertainment, Circe lasted two more songs before making her way to the couches to _socialise._

“Cedric, hey,” She perched on the edge of the couch next to him, her mouth curving into a smile as she glimpsed at him through the haze and smoke of the room. The whole room wasn't hazy, just the area with the couches were her friends, the heirs to family empires, part of the most influential families in Wizarding Britain or perhaps the world, were getting high out of their minds. 

“Circe you look amazing,” He spoke, taking a tentative sip from a glass.

“Where’d you get that from?” She tapped a long nail on his glass.

“Theo.” Cedric took another much larger gulp.

Forgetting to tell him, she rose, and made her way to Theo who was pouring a drink at a side table, back muscles straining against his black shirt. He still hadn’t finished the joint from earlier and it hung lazily from his lips. Circe crept up behind him, and before he could protest, grabbed the joint from his lips and inhaled deep into her chest.

“He-oh, you good Circe?” She nodded, feeling a light buzz enter her bloodstream.

“How is bartending Theodore? Make me something yummy?” He sized her up and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m not bartending—,” She leaned closer into him, suddenly aware of their height difference. “You made Cedric something, and it looks good,”

“I was being nice,” Theo retorted, his jaw set, reaching over her to grab the joint from her two fingers.

“Fine, I’ll do it myself.” Circe couldn’t see much, and with Theo towering over her blocking any sort of light, it was beginning to become frustrating, specially when she lifted what was supposed to be Firewhiskey but it turned out to be mineral water.

“Gods,” Everything was loud and everyone was looking at her and—she needed a drink. “Do you have your wand on you?” Theo handed over a carved wand, with what could only be his initials.

She cast _Lumos_ and found a half empty bottle of Japanese firewhiskey she had donated to the party from her personal stash, and poured a considerable amount in a glass. Theo caught his wand as she threw it over her shoulder before leaving to join Cedric once more.The couch dipped beneath her and Cedric seemed startled but relaxed once he saw who it was. Circe felt daring after a few puffs of Theo’s joint and a sip of fire whiskey, so she threw her legs across his lap, crossing them and laying down deeper into the couch.

Cedric only peered at her from above, soft blue eyes burning holes into her green, and then he placed his palm securely on her thigh.

“Are you having fun, pretty boy?” That was her thing, with boys like Cedric who were sweet and who flushed easily, calling them names to get them all nervous.

“Am I pretty boy now?”

“You’re pretty boy always,” She could tell Cedric was flustered, as he let out a breath and looked to the side.

“Good to know…”

A few more moments passed, Cedric absentmindedly, or perhaps not quite, stroking her thigh and the two of them simply enjoying the music. That was until Pansy, who was fiddling with the music picked a very very very danceable song. It was a muggle song, and with its seductive whispering and fast pace, it made her feel like the colour pink, like it would be played at one of the clubs she frequented in London. 

“Let’s go! You have to dance with me!” She jumped from her position on the couch and pulled a blushing Cedric off the couch towards where more people were dancing. Raunchy was one way to put it, and she didn't mind but she much preferred energetic. Perfect for a performance. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Draco in the corner of the room, in conversation with the redhead from earlier and Theo. Blaise and the soft looking blonde girl from earlier were nowhere to be seen. 

The song began to flow through her and she spun around hands in her hair as she danced with her back to Cedric. The weed and the alcohol and frankly the attention on the dance floor made her experience invincibility. Gods, how she missed dancing. At first Cedric was reluctant, reluctant to grab her hips and move with her but that soon passed and they were moving their hips in circles together. She laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes, perhaps this is what flying felt like. Slowly, she bent down hands flowing past all areas of her body then lifted back up with a slow winding movement of her hips and her curved back. 

“Circe, you’re…” He groaned in her ear. She twisted in his arms yet their hips still moved in-sync, foreheads touching. His breath was warm as it fanned over her face, alcohol clearly laced with it. Still, he held back, a little bit too much for her own good. 

_Gimme more gimme more gimme gimme gimme more._

They were both sweating and it was messy, sweaty but Gods, the boy knew how to keep up. Cedric settled his hands on her waist though not on her hips, she could feel her breathing become more laboured and the lace of her dress seemed suddenly to heavy. Finally, the song ended, leaving them panting and much too aroused for their own good. Cedric's was accounted for, with what looked like a strained erection at the front of his jeans. 

She drew him back to the couches, hands entwined and giggling wildly as he couldn’t get his hands off of her. Circe van Astor was intoxicating, addicting in the very best way possible. Allowing herself to scan the room before settling all her attention on him, she saw the group in the corner—Theo looked possibly pissed off, and Draco, oh, Draco was shoving his tongue so deeply down that red-heads throat it looked illegal. Or maybe painful.

A Circe they hadn't met yet came out tonight, the Circe who popped random pills and drank herself into oblivion every night. The Circe who liked to play with boys and see them all over her, as if she were an observer to her own actions. Yet that Circe wasn't fully here, but she was coming, she was announcing her presence at the back of her mind. And she had been good, much too good for the time she had been at school so she didn't mind that the impulsive Circe had come to play. But then she remembered the fear on her sister's face when she had last seen her like this, and a horrible feeling settled in the pit of her sternum, threateningly. 

“That was something else, you’re something else…” Cedric faced her.

“Hmm, go on, I like where this is heading,”

“You’re so insanely beautiful, I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” Gah, was that the best he could do?

“Am I now?” She raised a exploratory eyebrow and dipped her finger in her glass of whiskey, mixing the residue ice and drink, before hollowing her cheeks to suck her own finger dry.Cedric’s eyes darkened. That horrible feeling had been forgotten quickly. 

“Circe, need a re-fill?” Theo appeared as if out of nowhere, and she transferred her attention to him, and to Draco and his tongue-twisted partner on the opposite couch.

“What are you offering?”

“Vodka.” He swirled the bottle with the transparent liquid that had been the main cause of one too many headaches.

“No, thank you,I’ll pass.” Besides her, Cedric reached for his glass and raised it up.

“I’ll take a refill mate,” Theo’s eyes narrowed.

“I wasn’t asking you now was I, _mate_?” He scowled then left, and Circe watched him walk up to Rosamund.

“Ignore him,” Cedric agreed then closed the distance between them. It took her perhaps five seconds of tentative kisses to nip at his bottom lip, almost prodding him to pick up the tempo.The kiss was soft at first, but as Cedric grabbed her waist, pulling her onto his lap, it deepened. She threaded her hands through his brown hair and pulled at his roots, but instead of the desired reaction, he broke their kiss pulling his head back , and laughing.

‘What?” Her lips were swollen and she frowned at him, slightly panting once more. Before she could say anything else, he kissed once more, harder, trailing his hands up and down her back.Cedric shifted bucking his hips up, and she couldn’t help but stifle a moan. He settled his rough hands close to her ass but still a respectable distance away, and Circe wished he wouldn’t be respectful for the lightest of minutes.

* * *

Opening her eyes as she pulled away, she couldn’t help but laugh at their predicament, snogging on a couch for all to see. Some stared at her and the Hufflepuff Captain, wide prudish eyes, while some, like Pansy, smiled or winked. Her dorm mate waved for her from across the room, already moving to the dance floor jumping up and down, the speakers were blasting their favourite Joan Jett song.Disconnecting her body from Cedric’s and vanishing to the makeshift dance floor, was quite straightforward, he didn’t fuss nor complain, and he certainly didn’t move fast enough for her. Pansy grabbed her hands and threw them up, both twisting and shaking their heads wildly, prepared to sing their anthem until their throats were raw and raspy like Joan’s.

“I DON’T GIVE A DAMN ABOUT MY REPUTATION!

YOU’RE LIVING IN THE PAST ITS A NEW GENERATION

AND A GIRL CAN DO WHAT SHE WANTS TO DO

AND THATS WHAT IM GONNA DO” Pansy and her shouted to no one but everyone at the same time, the words energising every fibre of their being. And there they were in that moment in a hazy room, skimpy clothes, they could pretend they were just two teenage girls, not society princesses.

_Society princesses_ , Circe thought, _what a foolish nickname, one of us is gay and the other a very complicated mess. Yet we both try, try a bit to be happy._

By the time, the record finished, and they had gone through two electrifying guitar riffs, they were both breathless and in desperate need of any liquid. It was perhaps a coincidence, that she felt so responsible for Cedric, but as soon as she did, it was as if a stone dropped on her chest, Theo and Draco both looked positively evil as they sat too close to him. It looked like a disaster begging to happen. This was the serpent’s den Pansy was talking about, and Cedric looked like he was about to get bitten. The bite would not hurt that much, but the venom and the aftermath; those were qualities she picked up in Slytherin. Make everything hurt more in the long run. It's very easy to scourgify a shirt if you poured wine on it, but it was much harder to patch up a bruised ego.

“Pansy,” She tugged on her arm, “Look, what are they doing?” She observed the girl following her line of sight, before landing on the trio, and now more people around them. Two younger Slytherin girls and a boy was all she could recognise, save for Draco’s redhead partner.

With a quick shared glance, they decided to intervene. And if it wasn’t Cedric, she wouldn’t have cared, perhaps she would have joined in the mindless taunting.

“Yea, tell us, Diggory does your older girlfriend know about your little fling with van Astor?” Theo twirled a piece of Cedric’s hair around his two fingers, same insipid tone from earlier. In the low light, his dark blue eyes seemed almost like they were bleeding black. 

“No, but perhaps you could write to her?" Draco chipped in with a grin. "...Offer your shoulder for her to cry on as her boyfriend snogs one of ours, a filthy little serpent. Isn’t that what you used to call us Diggory, from your moral high ground?” The blonde boy smirked opposite him, entering Theo’s game with his remarks. And for a second she stopped, while Pansy went ahead. Cedric had remained quiet, not engaging in their game. It reminded her of how predators played withtheir food before ripping it to shreds. 

What was she doing? No, she stepped in front of the two, hands at her hips, and a very, very, Agnes van Astor grimace on her face.

“You boys done?” Their heads snapped up at her, and she swore Theo looked ashamed.

“Not quite. You tell van Astor the reason Daisy broke up with you?” Draco further prodded, looking at Cedric in a way that was both bored and involved. Like he was beneath him, unless he responded.

“Shut it Malfoy,” Cedric finally broke, and the two boys looked pleased. 

“Or what?” Draco stood up next to Circe, with a look on his face that basically dared Cedric to continue. She recognised the rush Draco got, the feeling, the power and superiority, and for that split second she understood. She understood their little game. 

Cedric stood up as well, not quite as intimidating as Draco towered over him but she had to praise him standing his ground in front of the viper.

“Or. What. Diggory.” He spit his name down at him, and Cedric opened his mouth but nothing came out. But what should be made clear is that, these were two boys from pureblood families, who followed a code of conduct of sorts—she knew they weren’t going to fight. They were above physical fights unless the partner was at the same level as them. If Draco threw the first punch he would be in trouble, with the school perhaps, but if Cedric threw the first punch he would be in more trouble, in the form of a busted up face. All rules would be dropped, plus Slytherins were not known for their following of rules regardless, Theo would join in immediately and the temper she had heard he had, required release of some sort. Cedric's pretty face bleeding back and blue would be a given. 

Even the music had seemed to stop, but Pansy wisely spoke. “I think you should leave Cedric,” And Gods, she was right, it’s not as if they could kick out Malfoy and Theo from their own common room.Cedric let out a shaky breath and took a step back, before making his way to the door. He threw one last look at Circe, and she sighed loudly. 

"What the fuck?" She angrily whispered, pointing to the other two Slytherins. Draco rolled his eyes, but Theo averted his gaze. 

"Go run after your little boyfriend van Astor," Draco sat back down and she scoffed, turning around to catch Cedric at the door. She was determined to make up for his treatment tonight, to right a wrong. It was strange she actually cared, but it hadn't been Cedric's fault. Or did the two boys knew something she didn't?

Circe caught him just as he was almost out the door.

“I shouldn’t have come here tonight Circe, that’s clear.” He said in a low voice, looking over her shoulder.

“Look, I'm going to make it clear to you-I can't account for their behaviour, but I, for one am glad you came. Sorry for all that,”

“Yeah, it’s fine. They’ve always been like this.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” He brightened up a bit and pushed down on the door handle. Circe pressed a quick peck to his cheek.

“Bye pretty boy.”

* * *

Circe held the familiar thin white paper between her nimble fingers, long nails making it impossible to pack in the joint tightly. Just a little something before bed, was what Blaise said as he returned with the baggy from his bedroom.And she agreed swiftly, needing that lightheaded feeling, that haziness that seemed to contain her as she drew in that first puff. It clouded her thoughts and fizzled them out at the same time. Calling it feeling ‘high’ as the muggles did, was extremely fitting. She had smoked for the first time with a older muggle man by mistake, and found that she enjoyed it.It was clear her friends did too. Blaise was smiling gently next to her on the floor and Pansy hogged the couches with Astoria. Theo had retired for the night, and Draco was nowhere to be seen.

“You ever wonder what your life would be if you were a muggle?” Astoria spoke, exhaling a cloud of smoke and passed one of their two joints to Pansy. The two lovers were practically cuddling on the couch, but deemed Blaise a tad too faded to question anything.

“No, but sometimes I wonder what my life would be like as a toad.” Circe couldn’t contain her laughter at Blaise’s response.

“Gods, Blaise, a toad?” She asked in between laughs.

“Yea, just imagine. I’d be one of those lake ones, lounge all day in the Sun, swim around whenever I want, fuck once and father an army of slimy kids.” He passed the spliff to Circe once more.

“‘An army of slimy kids’? What is going on in that mind of yours?” She turned to him and tapped his temple for effect. He burst out in a loud lough, as if she had said the funniest joke he had ever heard.

“I want to be a cat. Nine lives and all—,” Pansy spoke up, recovering from a cough.

“You would probably hunt fat little Sun-basking toads then,”

“Oi!”

“Oh, certainly. I would be on a toad only diet.” Pansy tried to keep a straight face but couldn’t and soon they were all laughing.

A loud croak interrupted them, the door to the boy’s dormitory opened and out walked a disheveled Rosamund, shirt bunched up, and hair in all sort of directions. She attempted to walk towards her own dorm clearly undisturbed, but it was too late-Pansy had spotted her.

“Roz? Gods, you looked like you had some fun. Fancy telling us about it?” She waved the joint in the air and Rosamund reluctantly plopped down on the floor next to Circe. Gladly accepting Pansy's joint she inhaled, coughed, and spoke.

“I did have some fun.”

“Just some?”

“Alright plenty then, better?”

“With…” Pansy stared at her expectantly. Blaise twisted a bright blue

  
  
“Does it matter?”

“Oh yes it does, don’t leave us hanging,”

“Fine, Adrian Pucey,” She said softly under her breath.

“Mamian Mucey? Who’s that?” Blaise was laughing again, so was Circe.

“Adrian Pucey you twats, do you hear me now?” Rosamund huffed in defeat.

“Oh, we hear you Roz, doesn’t mean we believe you,” Astoria said, obviously holding her previous grudge.Roz arose from her spot on the couch, picked up her boots, muttered something once more under her breath and left. Adrian Pucey was a catch, the girls had settled on that after Rosamund left.

* * *

A while longer passed, the air around them becoming heavier with smoke, and Pansy and Astoria retired for the night. Pansy may have suggested for her to find another place to sleep for the next two or three hours, and as good of a friend Pansy had been, it would have been rude to refuse.Blaise went to bed a while after the girls did, offering his company for as long as he could before practically falling asleep on her shoulder. She was now alone, and Circe couldn’t abstain from wondering about the whereabouts of the blond boy. Maybe he functioned like her, better at night, with little sleep necessary in general. Or perhaps he was snoring away in a plush bed.

Circe rose from her spot on the floor and wiped her eyes, before looking at the big clock above the mantel piece which read 5:02 am. Her stomach made a strange sound, and only then did she realise how hungry she actually was.Yet she found herself leaving the common room to thread through the cold corridors, with only one direction in mind, where she knew she would find him or at least hoped to. The Astronomy Tower.

Her boots were loud on the grey stone of the school, and she feared she would awaken the moving portraits who would raise the alarm. Gods, and was she right.

“Young lady! Stop right there!” Circe concluded she had two options, run or run faster. So she broke into a sprint not stopping until she could see the heavy wooden door entrance to the Astronomy Tower. It was unlocked and opened easily. And as soon as she did, she saw him snd he saw her. The moment was so rare, lineal the particles in the room had stopped moving leaving only the two of them enveloped in perpetual darkness.

Draco was still in his black shirt and pants though more crinkled with a stain above his knee,his hair was dishevelled far from the perfect way she had been accustomed to seeing him , and he had a almost finished cigarette in between his lips. His plump rosy lips she dreamt about kissing again, just for old time’s sake she told herself. This wasn’t the ten year old that had pressed his lips against hers under a table, this was Draco Malfoy, and he was little bit of a mess.

It was now clear to Circe that time was merely a construct because they could have stared at each other for thirty seconds or thirty hours and yet neither of them had broken their contact, and neither had spoken. His eyes were darkening, and narrowing as if in fury while hers remained the same,though redid than usual. The weed had multiple side effects. The Astronomy Tower looked the same as always,theonly thing different was the smell of tobacco lingering in the air. 

Therefore, Circe van Astor’s dismay was understandable as she stood frozen in her spot but watched Draco rapidly advance towards her, long strides, and he was too close to her. His breath was hot against her face, and she never once broke eye contact, this was her taunting him, taunting him to do something, to make the next move. _A daring chess game between two chess-masters._

Still, he managed to do the unthinkableble, and in one swift move she was pressed up against the door, and a breath hitched in her throat as he wrapped one cold hand around her neck, heavy rings marking her skin. And he squeezed. Not one ounce of fear could be found in her body, she felt wildly comfortable with him in this compromising position.

“You must think you’re so much better than me, than us, hmm, Circe?” She rolled her eyes. His grip tightened.

“Make your point, Draco,” She said his name in that very French way—Dra-co and she could tell he liked it. The serpent lowered his head to the crook of her neck to be able to whipser in her ear.

“You and I should play a little game.” A shiver ran up her spine to meet the place where his lips almost toyed with her ear. This was much too erotic for 5 am on a Sunday.

“What sort of game?” Yet she kept her cool.

“While I am tempted to fuck your pretty little throat raw,” He unclasped his hand from her neck, flexing them and wrapping them again, holding tighter. “ I have a proposition, a competition between you and I, inspired by Pansy’s earlier comment.” She didn't get on her knees for just about anyone but Draco Malfoy seemed to have an invisible, ghost hold on her, so that comment accentuated something deep within her.

Remembering where she was, she racked her mind searching for the moment he was referring to.

_“You two, you two are wicked heartbreakers. I don’t know how you do it, both of you, but it is astonishing. Last year Draco broke up with six girls by forcing Theo to tell them, and you Circe, this poor guy—,”_

_“_ Wicked heartbreakers, is that what she called us?”

“I want to test that, a hypothesis of sorts,”

“Youre insane,” She rolled her eyes again, but this time, he pulled on her hair, angling her face to an angle where she forced to look at him. His expression was no longer unreadable but it was confusing, perhaps anger or lust, or both.

“I am merely a creature of curiosity,” He grinned deviously, then returned to his spot in the crook of her neck. 

“And what do you want us to do Malfoy, set up a heartbreaking competition?” A smile grew on his pretty face once more. He positioned his leg in between her open thighs, dangerously close to her core.

“Clever girl." The hand toying with her hair left it's resting place,and moved onto her cheek. "Until next year, one person from each house. And it has to be clear, a public display ofheartbreak. A breakup. You decide your own terms,”

“And why would I play your stupid little game?” His thumb traced the shape of her lips, before tracing down her body, past her clavicle, past her chest, past her waist, until a firm hand settled warmly on her hip. He fit closely into her, like they were two pieces of the same puzzle. He was no longer cold, but much too hot, or perhaps that was the reaction he caused in her.

But Circe van Astor was not a sweet damsel that fell prey to teasing words and taunting moves. He had game, that was clear, but it did not mean she did not. She pushed her hip forward, and elicited the exact reaction she was sure she would-a throaty groan. The hand on her hip pushed her deeper backwards into door. 

"Answer my question, Malfoy," She looked at him innocently, as if she were one of those girls who were unaware of their own power, of their own effect upon everyone. It usually made boys weak at the knees, but not Draco, no, he was unfazed. 

“Because, you’re like me Circe. A little girl desperate for some control in her life, and that’s what this is, and you need it. You look at me strangely now, but I see you.” And perhaps he was right, and thats what everything was for her.

The drugs, the alcohol, that swam in her veins, were her choices, her ways to control, to master her own body.

The girls, the boys, were not random, she choose them and made them believe she hadn’t but she was just as wicked as the worst of people, albeit more secretive about it.

And in the end, it was all about control. To take back the life planned out for her, to take back the pieces of her that were stolen from her, the pieces she would never get back. The van Astor buried secrets were stored deep within her. She knew it all, and experienced it all, and it was painful.

“It would be cruel.” Her voice was raspy.

“It would be,”

“And evil, shockingly evil,”

“Define evil,” She tried to analyse his face for something but it betrayed nothing, and perhaps hers didn’t either, they both were part of the same societal practices, the same aloofness and nonchalance.

“But I mean who the fuck truly falls in love at seventeen?”

There she was, there was Circe van Astor, and it scared her how almost easily she was agreeing.

“Hmm,” He seemed almost bored, as if he could do this with everyone, as if she was nothing. 

_I will not be underestimated._

_I will not be underestimated._

_I will not be underestimated._

“I’m in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the games begin <3


	9. A study into Blaise Zabini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW////mentions of assault/rape, I did not mention it explicitly but it is discussed in this chapter.  
> In this fic I want to focus on more people not just Circe so I'm adding a few chapters named 'A study into...' about our other Slytherins. Basically their backstories, and just going deeper into them as characters not just side characters. Some of it is canon, but majority is made by me.  
> For sure Theo will have a chapter, and possibly Pansy and Astoria. It's something new I'm trying out. :)

_So you brought out the best of me_

  
_A part of me I've never seen_

  
_You took my soul and wiped it clean_

[-]

Blaise Zabini had always been a happy child, until his father died when he was nine years old, leaving amuch too beautiful mother that had to suddenly learn to raise a child. Xenia Zabini was barely twenty when she married into the affluent Zabini family—not that she came from a bad family per say, just a poor one of purebloods that only had their names to speak for them. Blaise heard stories of his mother’s perseverance, of her resilience, her power, but that isn’t how how he knew her.

And maybe it wasn’t really her fault, maybe she was the product of her surroundings, of a society that was so toxic to get stuck in, so addictive. By the time he was seventeen, she reached her sixth husband.

When Blaise’s father died, Flavius, due to a heart attack at fifty six, the now widowed Xenia Zabini remarried within a year. Blaise remembered all his ‘step-fathers’ but wished he could forget Marcellus Humphries.He was American, and not very knowledgeable of the world, and he spoke very plainly, which irked a young Blaise for his father was a very knowledgable man who spoke in only riddles.

Where Flavius Zabini encouraged Blaise to read, to expand his mind, promising trips to the all corners of the world, Marcellus Humphries wanted Blaise to become a professional Quidditch player.

Where Flavius Zabini praised Blaise’s sensitivity, his friendliness, Marcellus Humphries slapped the back of his head when he smiled too much, or laughed too loudly.

But his father wasn’t here, Marcellus was, so he, like any impressionable child, began to heed Marcellus’s words. He traded the books, the passion for all creatures not human, for a broom and a green Quidditch set. He closed himself off, and fell into that stereotype, coldness and sarcasm were the only things he exposed to the world.

**It all changed when he was thirteen.**

He had never been an exceptional-looking kid, but at thirteen, it seemed as if overnight, he blossomed, in width, in height and growing into that regal beauty his mother possessed. But that wasn’t why it all changed when he was thirteen. It was because, when he thirteen, sleeping soberly in a house that was always filled with people but felt empty, Marcellus first entered his bedroom. And took off his pyjama pants and shirt. And boxers. And then took off his as well.

He could have screamed, he could have tried to hex him, to call for his mother.

But who would believe him?

This man stepped up, or so it seemed, stepped up in that fragile age where boys are on their way to become men and stuck around.

So why was he sleeping next to him naked? He didn’t know what to think of it. Blaise had not shut his eyes once those nights, terrified, afraid with every bone in his body. Marcellus just slept there, so close to him, that he could not only see him, but feel him, until the last day before he was going back to school.

And Blaise did scream, and he thrashed around, until Marcellus pointed a wand to his temple, and he woke up the next morning with a headache and intense pain all over. Marcellus was not there when he woke up.

* * *

When he descended the stairs, into their pink drawing room, where his mother took her morning tea, he simply collapsed to his knees in front of her. It wasn’t just the pain, the immense pain it took just to get dressed, bu the emotion he couldn’t hold in anymore. Fat tears fell down his cheeks, and he hiccuped, and he could barely breathe. His mother hadn’t moved from the velvet settee, she just watched him, studied him. And he wished she would say something, call him a disgrace or a prissy little boy, but she didn’t. And perhaps that was worse.

Where was this great woman they all spoke of?

Where was the woman his father had fallen in love with?

Where was she when he needed her most?

All he saw was a woman, desperate to hold onto the life she had been accustomed with. A woman that would spend the money Flavius had left her on governesses to raise her only child. A woman who threw money at a problem, hoping it would make it go away. It made him wonder if he was a burden, on her wellbeing, if he, the only living memory of the late Flavius Zabini, and the only person who seemed to remember him, was better off disappearing.

And when Marcellus walked in, kissing her cheeks then moving to him, he flinched violently, and pointed his wand at him. But his hand was trembling, and Marcellus was laughing in his face, coaxing him to put down the wand. Xenia simply watched the scene unfold.

It was when, Blaise looked at her through big chocolate eyes, and feathery lashes heavy with tears, he hoped sheunderstood. He mustered up all that emotion, hoping it conveyed the message.

This man had hurt her only son. 

* * *

Marcellus Humphries was found by his now widowed-again wife Xenia Zabini, dead in their bed one morning in January. The American passed quietly in his sleep, seemingly of natural causes. He found out by letter from his mother, after his fourteenth birthday, and she wrote a small almost invisible line that still stuck with him to this day.

_It was my mistake and I fixed it. I’m sorry you got hurt._

Theo and Draco offered their condolences, Pansy hugged him tight, and told him how much it would hurt her if her father had died. But this man was not his father, and he was relieved he was not alive.

* * *

In spring, when the trees bloomed green around Hogwarts, after his fourteenth birthday, he met Luna Lovegood. The odd pair met by the Black Lake, where he watched Luna spread something from a paper bag into the murky waters of the lake.

“Are you feeding the squid?” He spoke and she did not flinch or turn around, in fact she walked further into the water, spreading the powder all over.

“Oh, no, he detests sugar. I am feeding the water spirits Blaise Zabini,”

Blaise watched her, and was filled with a sense of ease, like all he wanted to do was smile. She opened her satchel, and produced another paper bag, not before finally turning around to face him. This was very unlike him, and the cold boy he had become.

“Do you want me to save you some sugar, Blaise Zabini?” Her voice was very light, and quiet, as if something terrible would happen if she spoke too loudly.

“Thanks, but I'll have to pass.” Blaise watched her adjust a flower in her hair, and thought, that never in his childhood studies of everything and everyone, had he encountered such a perfectly odd girl. The only girls he knew were Slytherins, but here he was on the grassy banks of the lake, studying the blonde Ravenclaw.

“Suit yourself. It would help with the anger, you know? The spirits suggested it in fact”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You, you’re a very angry boy Blaise Zabini, angry with us all. The spirits told me. Why hasn't anybody helped you yet?”

“How do you know my name?”

She let out a soft giggle, dumping the remnants of the paper bag.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know your name,” He retorted. The blonde girl stood in front of him now, barefooted and extended a pale hand, that still had flecks of white sugar on it.

“Silly, it's Luna Lovegood!” She smiled, and Blaise shook her hand. He smiled back.

* * *

Luna Lovegood could very well be considered his sister, in all the ways that mattered. Where Blaise had a learned uptightness about him, Luna made him soften at the edges, reminding him to smile and stop and smell flowers once in a while.

Their friendship was no secret, but when Draco called Luna 'demented' when they were preparing for summer break, he was met with a very 'demented' punch square in the jaw from Blaise.

Blaise invited Luna everywhere, and so did she. It felt comfortable, warm and easy even to roam the grounds and stare at clouds with Luna, taking back a lot of qualities he was not permitted in his upbringing.

By summer, his mother had remarried a short old man named Richard, who brought along sons, Timothy and Jean-Luc. The boys were shy, and attended Beauxbatons, and Blaise got along with them as he got along with all boys.

The language barrier was the biggest issue of all, they spoke limited English, while Blaise spoke limited French. However, Blaise also spoke Italian, the language of his father’s family, so understanding French had proved to not be so difficult.

It was Luna who gave him a charmed journal, and a simple locket ‘for protection’ and taught him relaxing techniques and charms, and reassured him that all will be okay, and that he would be safe. That if anyone tried to hurt him, the locket would alert her and she would come running. It was strange to see the pacifist girl so revolted, so alert and so ready to help him, because, nobody had ever cared enough to.

* * *

When he first entered their London townhouse, he found that not much had been changed, and the same house elves took his trunk and broom up to his room, leaving him to wander around. Blaise found his mother in the garden, basking in the shade of their terrace, sipping on something he would later identify as a ‘Bloody Mary’.

“Blaise, darling, come join us,” She pointed to her and Richard, who peered up at him from thick spectacles and the newest edition of the Daily Prophet.

He turned around and locked himself in his father’s study, not sparing them another glance. But Blaise Zabini did not cry, did not punch walls or rip books in two, he simply breathed in like Luna taught him and exhaled. She also mentioned jumping up and down on his left foot two times then three on his right, but he skipped that step.

It was time to go back to his room, the same room he hadn’t entered for almost nine months, and the familiar sense of dread filled him instantly.

Think of Luna.

Think of Luna.

Think of Luna.

* * *

“Blaise, do you need me to make you a butterbeer cork necklace?” Luna leaned into him and whispered over the noise of the Slytherin party. She smelt of grass and lavender.

“Why would I need one?” He lit the joint in between his lips, offering it to her out of politeness, but knowing she would refuse it out of principle.

“Why to keep the nargles away, silly! There’s many in this room,” She tugged on something invisible on his shoulder. “there goes one of your shoulder right now,”

He laid his head back on the couch, making circles with the smoke he exhaled, while Luna peered around, smiling to herself. She prodded his side, pointing to where Circe, Pansy, Astoria and Rosamund were descending the stairs.

“Oi! Ladies, I, er, what the fuck?” They were all draped in some sort of revealing lace, and while stopping to dramatically pose, Circe smiled at him, and possibly at Luna. Cedric stood straighter, and Theo, never taking his eyes off of the Hufflepuff captain, broke his staring to fawn over Circe.

The girls went off to dance.

“Is that Circe van Astor, Blaise Zabini?”

“Yes, the one in black. Why? Have you two met before?”

“Oh,no, she is all Trixie talks about. Though I suppose Trixie should also be talking about how many nargles surround her at all times, she really does need to take more care with…”

“Trixie your dorm mate?”

“Yes Blaise Zabini. You met her twice, and you borrowed a book from her,”

He couldn’t picture the girl, but a mess of dyed blue hair and a golden skin passed in his mind, and he nodded, trying to re-focus on Luna as she spoke, trailing off at times, and pausing to take a drink from her pink and green bottle. Blaise knew it wasn’t alcohol, but peach juice she drank at all times.

“Do you want to go looking for Forget-me-nots? I’ll even make you a flower crown!” She asked him breathily just as he finished off his joint into an crystal ashtray. A smile grew on his face, the answer obvious on his tongue.

“Of course,” He stood up, and so did she.

Luna was the purest person he had ever met, and would ever meet. All his friends noticed that some time when he was close to turning fifteen, something switched in him, he began laughing more, he stopped taking himself so seriously, and he woke up feeling happy, not tired. They also didn’t know the nightmares stopped, and they also didn’t know he could finally kiss a boy again without flinching, or that the only tears that left his eyes were those from laughing too hard.

Luna Lovegood had been his healing without even realising, but deep down, he knew she knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Blaise, and Luna so much, I just had to include their friendship. Friends can truly be your healing, if you let them be.  
> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is All I want by Kodaline


	10. A study into Theodore Nott

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -For my friend Eva, the ethereal fairy-
> 
> The youngest of 3 siblings, the protective, and the charming certainly did not grow up in the same happy household he is made up to have grown up in. I present to you, Mr. Theodore Nott, 'Theo' for friends, or if you're cute.

_I wait by the door like I'm just a kid_

  
_Use my best colors for your portrait_

  
_Lay the table with the fancy shit_

_And watch you tolerate it_

  
_If it's all in my head, tell me now_

  
_Tell me I've got it wrong somehow_

  
_I know my love should be celebrated_

  
_But you tolerate it_

[-]

Theodore Nott never really had a voice, or a choice. The youngest of three siblings, all accomplished brothers nonetheless, he certainly did not fall into the stereotype of a spoiled younger sibling. His mother doted on him, perhaps, more than the others, because she had named him—named him after her dead brother, and that irritated his father to no end. When he was older, and embroiled in thought over his childhood, Theo suggested to himself that his mother kept him a bit closer to her, out of protection, not able to understand that somebody had chosen to love him a little extra after they put him in the shadows. That one of his parents chose to adore the runt of their family instead of the other two strong, powerful brothers. 

Augustus Nott had always been a charming man, built like an ox, tall and strong even in his later age, with dark hair and signature Nott blue eyes. He knew he inherited them too, the blue eyes and the charming twinkle that defined them from his father. Augustus was definitely, not a gentle giant, he was not a gentle anything. When he entered a room or walked up the stairs, his steps could be heard even in the other end of the house, and he was very heavy, not in weight but in demeanor. His words were harsh, and carried a lot of power, and he dominated over everyone and everything, especially his wife.

Zelda Nott came from a proper family of purebloods, and Theo always thought of his mother to remind him of a wispy, fragile flower, that was in constant need of sunlight and water. But she never received those bare necessities.She was always sick in one way or another, and for her tiny frame, after three births, she never really got better. Whether it was a cold, or a fever, or tremors that began in her left hand, whenever they were out in public, in society, Zelda always had something.

And all Theo wanted was for his mother to finally be okay, to breathe and move easily, to live a day peacefully, and he worked hard to shield her. From his father, from the harsh whispers of his father’s numerous infidelities that were common knowledge, and even from her sons. He would be her shield, and quite literally too, as by the time he was twelve he surpassed her by a noticeable distance in height, while she seemed to wither away, to diminish. He had implored his Father to travel across England, to go to numerous healers, to find a cure for her or at least a diagnosis, and when they did, they were met with nothing conclusive. Zelda had been referred to a Mind Healer, but that is where Augustus drew the line, blaming her for her own sickness. 

Arlo, his eldest brother, still lived at home with them to be close to their father and learn the inner workings of their business. Arlo had always surpassed them all, everything he did was for their father’s approval, and that even meant acting cruelly to the woman that sacrificed a piece of her to give him life. A piece of her that was lost forever, and what was worse, is that it was lost on a malevolent, despicable, foul boy. Or at least, that was what Theo thought. 

Theo was twelve, to Arlo’s eighteen, when he first stood up for her in front of him, braving his heart like a idiotic Gryffindor that he wasn’t. The Slytherin instincts and lessons of self-preservation kicked in later, and he would quickly learn Arlo’s weak spots, and how to manipulate them. It turns out Arlo was hiding a very, very big secret that would bring wretched shame to their very conservative Father, perhaps it would be the death of him. But Theo kept mum, biding his time, portioning out his venom for the day it would sting the most.

They were in the drawing room, Theodore was scribbling away on a piece of parchment, writing a story about a boy who saved everybody, while his mother fiddled with some embroidery, by the fire. Arlo walked in, dusting off snow from his long hair. He scoffed at the sight-two members of the Nott clan simply enjoying each other's presence, simply enjoying life and the warm glow from a fire. Theo knew, that what irked him most, was because Father had been too busy teaching him the ways of their family to ever enjoy his company. Arlo was not disgusted, he was _jealous_ and that made it worse.

“Mother, is this the first day you come out of your rooms this week?” His tone was judgemental, and his mother said nothing in return, just smiled meekly at him, refocusing on her embroidery. A log collapsed in the fire.

“And you? You done writing those idiot stories of yours?” Arlo settled his wand on the table, and when Theo did not offer any response he once again moved towards their mother on the couch.

“No wonder Father won’t even look at you anymore,” Arlo ripped the wooden embroidery circle from their mother’s small hands. She wouldn’t look at him, but Theo saw her hands began to shake violently. How could Arlo treat her this way? “It is as if, as if your brain has reversed back into a—,”

“Stop, Arlo,” The chair scraped loudly behind him, and he summoned every little bit of power coursing through his veins to be able to look into his brother’s crazed eyes, and not begin crying.

Arlo tossed the embroidery tool back at their mother, not caring that it hit her in the chest. She coughed in surprise, he was unaware of his strength, or if he knew, he didn’t care.

“Ah, the little tosser speaks? You know, Theodore, Father and I think you’ve gone mute like mother,”

A rough, thick anger erupted in him, at his older brother’s taunts, at the mention of his father, and once more at the remarks directed towards their mother. He didn’t think twice before lifting his knee and shoving it hard into Arlo’s crotch.

He doubled over in pain, and snarled in anger.

_There, not as invincible as he makes himself out to be_ , Theo thought.

The busted lip, broken arm and rib Arlo gave him afterwards were almost painless and surprisingly worth it. He had proved something, they would do good to remember.

But something had changed, perhaps the dynamic, in the house, or in between brothers, but Theodore had finally inherited the Nott anger, and channeled into something far greater than any of his brothers ever could.

* * *

It was his other older brother Montgomery or ‘Monty’ as they all called him, who gave him his first cigarette and taste of alcohol. Theo had always admired Monty, for his wits, and the incredible details about magical animals he would share with the younger Nott. He wasn’t bad, like Arlo, Theo decided, but he wasn’t good either.

Monty was not a stain upon their family, he was quite the opposite. An accomplished magizoologist who was on track to publish his first book on the subgenre of magical woodland creatures, specifically around large forests. Most of his research was done on the Nott countryside estate, where he during summer holidays, invited Theo to join him.

The summer Theo was fifteen, Monty, in that very quizzical manner he did everything, sat him down on a mossy rock on the bank of a small creek, and offered him weed. It wasn’t a tobacco cigarette, like he first suspected, but a bountifully rolled joint, packed tight with the plant that he, in the future, would so often partake in.

“Breathe deep into your chest, it’s just like a cigarette, but better,” Monty took the joint from him and inhaled calmly, blowing smoke in his younger brother’s face. It made Theo’s big blue eyes water, but he didn’t let Monty see.“How are your studies getting along?”

“Can’t complain,” He tried to mimic the same nonchalant way Draco or Blaise spoke, but the posture and accent felt strange on his tongue.

“You know, Theo, I never would have thought you would ever land in Slytherin,” Theo watched Monty speak with ease, gladly accepting the joint as it found its way back to him. The sun was bright and in full force as it tried to peek through the tall trees at the two brothers. A ray of sunlight settled on Monty, making his almost blonde hair—inherited from their mother, appear lighter.

“Why?”

“Arlo says you’re too weak, that you’re too much like Mother, and too little like Father,”

To this day, hearing his brother reiterate that opinion hurt him deeply. This was when he decided Monty was not good, he was neutral, which made him worse, it made him inherently evil.

“Do you believe that?”

“Dunno. Do you?”

_The fuck is that supposed to mean?_ Monty had a way of never answering questions, just avoiding them until they made their way back to their questioner.

Before he could answer, a small green creature emerged from the creek, and waddled slightly. Monty exclaimed and rushed to study it more closely. The effects of the weed began settling in, and Theo didn’t care enough to keep prodding.

In fact, he probably didn’t care about anything, as he laid his head back on the rock supported by his two hands, and smiled contently.

He liked ‘getting high’.

* * *

Pansy’s obnoxious tradition of shouting ‘MORNING FUCKERS’ on their first train ride back to school had started two years ago, when Blaise dared her to, so Theo thought nothing more as he heard the girl’s usual greeting.

But when Pansy arrived, any girls he had ever seen before, any girls he had shagged or snogged completely left his mind as soon as he saw _her_.

There is no one like her, he thought, and he maintained that thought even as they graduated Hogwarts, even after everything, even with the uncertainty of what they were to each other.

He knew then and there, that there was no amount of time that was enough for him to simply look at her. Dark hair fell in soft waves past her shoulders, and bright forest green eyes scanned them all, and when she opened up her mouth to speak, and when she moved past him, and when she smiled, it was set in stone for him.

“And you sorry lot, are really not going to introduce yourselves? Is this what we have come to? Gryffindor manners, or lack thereof?” Pansy’s shrill voice brought him back from his thoughts.

Theo ran a hand through his hand, suddenly acutely aware ofhis appearance, of every inch of exposed skin she could see, and offered her a charming smile before speaking.

“Hello there lovely, the name is Theodore Nott, this lady to my left is Astoria Greengrass and next to her is Tracey Davis, who happens to be in a mood this morning,” He paused again before continuing. “ And this charming fellow is Draco Lucius Malfoy.”

Theo didn’t miss the way Draco looked at her, and prayed, to the Gods, to the stars, to no one and anyone that Draco would forget even meeting her. Would he ever stand a chance if Draco was in the same competition? 

Circe van Astor, the name was familiar, of course, but he was sure he had never met her before, because if he did—he would definitely remember.

It took Blaise’s polite question, about his summer spent in Italy, to retireve his eyes back onto his friends and off the girl.

_There is no one like her,I’m certain, and she hasn’t even spoken a word to me. Gods, I’m fucked._

“Actually, does anybody have any parchment and a quill? Figure I could write a letter.” Her voice has tauntingly raspy and the accent wasn’t fully british, but slightly tainted with a smidge of French, and something else he couldn’t place.

Theo immediately ransacked his bag, and produced a piece of parchment and his new quill. Gods, and the way she smiled at him, made him curse his cheeks, for he was certain he was blushing.

And when she lifted up her dress, he tried averting his eyes, tried to not look at her thigh and the garter wrapped around it, but it proved much too difficult. The rest of the train ride to Hogwarts, was spent by Theodore Nott imagining different scenarios, involving her, and her thighs in some of them, while the others were much safer. 

* * *

“Gentlemen, I’m in love!” Theo collapsed dreamily on to his bed, sighing dramatically in the process.

“Yeah, with who?” Blaised grinned as he removed his shirt, changing it with a new one from his trunk. He spotted a new tattoo on Blaise's shoulder, accompanying the long snake that circled around his whole upper arm. His dorm mate had tattooed a half moon in white ink, along some flowers, which Theo was certain were called 'Forget-me-nots'. 

“Circe van Astor,” He stared up at the ceiling and wondered, wondered if her skin was as soft as it looked. Draco snorted from atop his bed.

Blaise shouted in agony, and Theo immediately was at his side. “What the fuck Blaise?”

“O you great and marvellous Theodore Nott, carry the pieces of my broken heart into your hands, for I thought your love belonged to me.” Theo was stunned for a while, simply staring at Blaise trying to stifle a laugh.

The boy broke into a wild smile, pointing at Theo.

“Oh, Gods, you should have seen your face!”Theo punched his shoulder jokingly.

“Be honest, do you think I have a chance with her?” Blaise looked bewildered, and pointed a finger into Theo’s broad chest.

“Of course you do. She would have to be blind to not give you a chance,” Theo slumped against the bed, turning to where Draco was fiddling with his trunk.

“What do you think? Draco,”

“Yeah, sure you do Theo,” His tone was laced with mockery, it was very easy for Theo to spot it after growing up in the household he did.

“Then why the fuck are you saying it like that?”

“Just saying, you don’t know her, who she really is. Might be best to not get so worked up,”

“You didn’t know that girl in the club in London, still let her suck your dick! Same goes for all the girls you run around with,”

“Is that all you want from her though?”

“Certainly no. Gods, why are you being such a twat about this?”

“I think _you’re_ being the twat.” Theo scoffed, ready to stand up to Draco like he had stood up to his brothers and father all summer.

Luckily, Blaise intervened before the tensions in the room could explode. It hadn’t always been like this between the trio of boys. Sure, Draco had always been a pompous git, but Theo and Blaise usually brushed it off. Blaise spent his time with Luna, while Theo with his stories, and it would be to Draco’s detriment if he pushed away the two people who would actually stay with him though thick and thin. They were Slytherins, and Slytherins take care of their own.

“Theo, maybe Pansy knows more about her, figure they’re going to be in the same dorm, because hers is empty, if of course, she is sorted into Slytherin.”

At that the three boys shared a look, _of course_ she would join them in Slytherin, they knew a serpent when they saw one.

“Alright, can one of you ask Pansy?” Draco rolled his eyes.

“Why can’t you?” The blonde boy retorted and was met with a grin and a shrug from Theo.

“She likes you two more,” He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the roots, and exhaled. “Pansy’s like your sister Draco,”

The conversation ebbed on, Blaise switching the topic to talk about the party they had planned, and asking about the procuring of weed, that apparently was Theo’s job. Draco had left at some point, refusing to tell them where, and they settled on wasting time until the Great Feast. That was until Blaise remembered to ask him about his latests story, so he and Luna could read it, like they always did, and offer feedback. Theo’s heart always swelled at the boy, his best friend, who was his biggest supporter.

A wicked smile, bright green eyes and a much too short black dress remained on his mind until the feast, where he should see her again.

Yes, there was no one like Circe van Astor, so he got out his quill and a fresh roll of parchment and began writing everything that came to mind.

* * *

Theodore Nott was pissed. And not in the fun drunk way, in the extremely temperamental way. It all started when Cedric Diggory walked into the Slytherin common room, with his dumb smile and his dumb face and his dumb walk and his dumb quidditch skills. 

Blaise saw him first and called him over to sit with him and Luna before Theo could protest from besides them. 

"Don't worry Theodore Nott, I know he is not as nice as they all say," Luna said softly from across the couch, motioning to Blaise and Cedric talking.

"And why is that?" Luna Lovegood was sweet, very strange at times but Blaise would die for her, so he didn't really mind her presence, in fact, if she disliked Cedric like he hated him, then he would properly enjoy her presence. Plus the way she spoke, in sayings and riddles, were always fun to decipher.

"He has an ugly, muddy aura." Theo's eyebrows raised in question but the blonde girl had already disappeared into the crowd.

Blaise approached the couch, with a reluctant Cedric, and shot Theo a warning glance. He had to remind himself that the boy was Circe's guest, and that he should act accordingly because of her, never because of him. The two boys sat down just as Luna re-appeared at Blaise's side. Conversation had started between the three, but Theo did not join from the couch opposite them, he just glared with a deep disgust at Cedric. 

"Theo, I asked you a question," Blaise waved his hand in front of his face, making Theo's scowl fade away.

"Ask me again." 

"Do you know where Circe is?" His eyes lit up at the mention of her name, suddenly interested in the conversation, but that excitement soon turned into a simmering anger when he realised Cedric meant to ask him that, not Blaise. It was clear by the way Cedric was perching on the edge of the couch. 

"Why?" He turned away from Blaise who was clearly exasperated and began addressing the Hufflepuff. "You nervous to see her Diggory? Piss your pants in anticipation yet?" 

"Theo, I-,"

"I don't know who gave you the permission to call me Theo but I sure fucking didn't," The Slytherin loudly scoffed, and upturned his nose in that very aristocratic way, as if Cedric were nothing more than dirt on his boots, nothing more than a weed that needed to be pulled out from the garden of flowers. 

"Theo, mate, why don't you go get some drinks?" 

_Why don't I break Cedric's jaw? Why don't I tear away his limbs slowly from his body? Why don't I use an Unforgivable on him and land myself in Azkaban, just for shits and giggles?_

Some questions did not have answers, while others certainly did, and the answer to the prospect of alcohol was always a resounding yes.

"Sure," Sarcasm coated the short response, and he got up making his way to the corner and the table of drinks. Levitating three glasses, filling them up with equal amounts of firewhiskey, regretting he had wasted the prime alcohol on scum like Cedric. Monty had also sent him some fun substances in the crate of liquor he requested, and Theo pocketed three joints, and a small bag filled with white powder. That wasn't to share, it was a mistake the coke had made it into the general pile of vices. He also pocketed two pockets of cigarettes, minimising them so they fit in the front pocket of his pants. It was hard to abstain from spitting in Cedric's drink, but even if he did, it was much too polite for what he wanted to do to the boy. 

"Here, Diggory, got you a drink," Cedric eyed the drink suspiciously and it irritated Theo to such an extent, he took it from his hands, downed the liquor and handed him his initial glass. The Hufflepuff was surprised to say the least. 

He held back a cough and settled back on the leather couch. The joint in his pocket seemed to be calling his name, and he settled it between his lips, almost mimicking the laidback way he had seen Monty do it over the years. Muttering a quick charm, the tip of his dark wand turned orange for the slightest second allowing him to puff deeply and ignite his joint. He settled on monitoring Cedric, inwardly cringing at how the boy just sat there awkwardly toying with a liquor glass.

What ever did Circe see in him? 

Theo supported his elbows on his knees lazily, and decided to begin tormenting Cedric. First it started out easy, glaring, then he moved onto blowing weed smoke in his face, which made him cough and shift awkwardly, then he saw the final stage of his little prank come into effect. 

Slytherins rarely follow rules, that was common knowledge throughout the schools, but it was wrong. Slytherins appreciated rules, but preferred to bend them to meet their own goals. Theo's goal was to make Cedric uncomfortable, and slipping a little invigorating potion, that activated when in contact with a person of the opposite sex (antiquated potion, but Blaise had found a way to alter it). It created a sexual, almost carnal attraction, that unless granted release could end up with a very serious case of blue balls for the one taking the potion. He just had to bed Cedric would get no release in the next two hours, and something told him he wouldn't.

So when Cedric was apprehensive to drink the glass offered, he effectively drank the firewhiskey mixed with the potion, it couldn't be traced back to Theo.

“Oi! Ladies, I, er,what the fuck?”Blaise shouted, getting his attention away from Cedric and focusing it on the one person it should be-Circe.

She was in the middle, with the rest of the girls but he wasn't looking at them, just at her. It wasn't what she was wearing, or how her legs were clothed in those knee-high socks that made his pants feel too tight, it was her action, how she smiled at him. That smile, it made something deep in him move, like all the stars in the night sky had settled their magnificence on her, and she choose to smile at him. It was otherworldly. 

The weed had kicked in by then, and he didn't have it in him to act upon his impulses, he wanted to savour the idea of her for a while longer. So she leaned back against the couch, clouds of smoke around him, and he already began thinking of metaphors to describe her eyes, or the ways her lips looked when she smiled. He couldn't settle on one, Theodore Nott had officially been left speechless. 

_Gods, I am so fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAA, sorry I just love Theo.  
> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is Tolerate it by Taylor Swift


	11. Eggs, beans, ham and toast without beans and ham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slytherins do brunch after a wild party, or the best brunch Hogsmeade can offer...

_You don’t really know what you got yourself into_

_Boy, you think you know but it just ain’t that simple_

_I don’t got the time you should_

_Read between the lines cause you’re_

_Skimming through the pages_

_…really looking dangerous_

_[-]_

After somehow finding her way back to the dorms, Circe dozed off on a couch, heeding to Pansy’s suggestion. And frankly she didn’t mind it, Pansy deserved something nice, and the couch by the window was large enough for her to curl up on, and to wake up with a view of the lake. Gods but it was not the lake which woke her from her maybe four hours of sleep, it was loud steps through the common room. She rubbed at her eyes, instantly regretting it when she saw all the black eyeshadow on her hands. 

“Shut the fuck up or I swear I will hex you,” The couch proved quickly uncomfortable as soon as she was not high anymore, or tipsy for that matter. She arose halfway with a groan and was met with Blaise, in boxers and a very rumpled t-shirt. He cooed at her and stretched his upper body. 

“Well, aren’t you a dear in the mornings?” He hopped over the couch to possibly piss her off more. Blaise ruffled her hair and continued on with his smiling, until it irritated her to the extremes. 

“Ugh,” She dropped her head in her hands, tucking her legs beneath her. One of the socks had rolled down to her ankle, while the other had a massive rip in it. 

“How is it that we always find you sleeping in the common room?” He pushed down on one of the couch cushions. "Are these really that comfortable?" 

“Thou seest how sloth wastes the sluggish body, as water is corrupted unless it moves,” She muttered the quote under her breath, making Blaise raise an eyebrow. "Ovid, roman poet that lived during the reign of Augustus."

"And do you always quote ancient muggle poets, after a hangover?"

"Only if you're lucky," She winked at him, and stifled another yawn. 

He brightened up, and smiled at her expectantly, as if he had something very important to say, but only if somebody asked.

“What?”

“Nothing…” Blaise said, still beaming too brightly, was he still high?

“Alright then,” She tied her hair back, the tangled mess of it, prepared to stand. “I’m off to bed,” 

“No, Circe,” He stopped her. “Brunch is at three.”

“Brunch? With who?” Gods, her memories of the stuffy brunches she had been forced to attend were not pleasant. Then she learned of wizarding laws, and how the business of heirs works, and found out she couldn’t be practically forced by her parents to do anything. Knowledge truly is power, or for her, control.

It was quite amusing because, as soon as she turned 16 she was eligible to take over the family estate, and she had no obligations, this footnote was introduced by her ancestor Raphael van Astor who had never intended it to be used by a girl. And if Raphael had met Circe, he probably did not intend for her to get the inheritance as well—the first girl first-born in 350 years. Constance van Astor precede her, with almost four centuries. She was the blood heir, she could disinherit her parents before they could her. 

Blaise’s answer drew her from her the depth of her mind.

“Theo, Pansy, Astoria, Draco, you and I, possibly Tracey.” He paused for a second. “And I think Draco is bringing that girl, the ginger, what was her name?”

“Muriel?” She offered.

“Yes, the Hufflepuff.” He dusted something off her shoulder. “Though, he’ll be late for sure.”

At the mention of Draco, memories of last night started to groggily awaken in her mind. First the door, and his hand around her neck, and the ways that made her feel, and then the competition. And it seemed like he had an early start, yet she was not far off, she decided Cedric, with his unappreciation for her hair pulling and soft eyes, would be her first.

It sounded so idiotic, like they were vampires or animals feasting on their blood. When in reality, they were Circe and Draco,the two bored messes. Circe decided that last night-that Draco Malfoy was not as put together as he physically was, that he also had secrets ingrained deep into his conscious, and she couldn't wait to peel them back layer by layer. Maybe it was curiosity, intrigue, or maybe it was something more.

“Why is that?” She massaged her left knee, sore for whatever reason, and worryingly so. Already, she planned three stretches for when she was back in her room, and racking her mind for a pain-relieving charm. 

“Well, you know, you weren’t the only one to sleep somewhere other than their dorm tonight.” She acted naively dumb, prodding him to elaborate.

Before he could answer,a small squeak was heard behind them, making them both turn simultaneously to see a first year marvelling at the state the common room was in, and perhaps the ashtrays and empty bottles. Gratefully she hadn't noticed the little open baggies, still translucent from the cocaine. Slytherins partied hard. Circe rolled her eyes, but Blaise spoke in a kind tone.

“Sorry love, we’ll clean it up soon.” The small girl blushed and ran off without a word.

“You can clean it up soon.” He pushed her shoulder in annoyance and she wondered if this is what having a brother must feel like, someone to annoy and laugh with.

“Shut up,” Blaise drew his wand from beside him, and placed a minimising charm on the bottles before levitating some of them to the bins. Circe could help, no wand needed for simple spells and charms, but she didn’t. Instead she watched Blaise effortlessly do it, and it was like seeing him in a completely different light.

It wasn’t by any means an attraction, though he was so charmingly handsome, but more like an discovery, and she suddenly felt great pride in being a Slytherin.

By the time he had cleaned half the common room, she decided a bath was much needed, and as the time was barely 1 she had plenty of room to relax, and process the events of last night.

“Blaise?”

“Mhm,” He furrowed his brows and bit his bottom lip in concentration, not glancing in her direction, but at a split pillow he was muttering a repairing charm on.

“Did I miss anything last night?”

"Roz actually left with Adrain, she wasn’t lying, Theo almost got in a physical fight with someone, Draco disappeared a bit after your pretty boy. Speaking of pretty boy, didn’t hear much about him or from him, bummer, huh?”

“Not really,” She hollered, shrugging nonchalantly as she climbed up the stairs to the girls dormitories.

Her knee continued to be sore, a slight pressure developing as she walked down the corridor. The van Astor-Parkinson dorm was quiet and when she pushed slightly on the door, she spotted two heads under a mountain of blankets in Pansy’s bed and made her way directly to their en-suite. Circe twisted the door with a lock and stared at herself in the mirror.Half of her hair was flat while the other looked insane, her black eyeliner drifted down her eyes, and her lips were still slightly swollen. But besides that, she felt like herself, chaotic and convoluted after a night out, and the emotion that swam through her was unfamiliar, hadn’t visited her for quite some time, but when it did, it was a drug—joy.

* * *

The water was scalding as she dipped a toe in, and she waited for a while before fully submerging herself. She opened her eyes under the bath water, and the shapeless water was staring back at her.

The scar on her left thigh, ugly and jagged, though she would never glamour it—she needed to remember it, and the small, almost unnoticable one just above her hip, that wasn’t where the knife was thrust in, but where it first cut. All to silence her. 

She rose from the water, frantically breathing—panting really willing herself not to relive the one memory her mind choose to not forget. Out of everything, it was truly cruel. It was cruel of her mind to disregard the handful of happy memories her childhood had provided, but remember every detail from the most horrid day of her life. She remembered the smell of the street, the colour of the socks in her boots, the way she shouted with all the air from her lungs, but nobody came, and perhaps what was the worst she remembered exactly how he looked. Even in the dark, she willed herself to remember, always, imprinted at the forefront of her mind. But nothing ever but pain came of holding onto that memory-her parents refused an investigation. Too much attention.

After that, she promised that fourteen year old girl, that she would never be that scared again, that no one would overpower her, no one could control her like that, and that out of hatred for her parents-she would gather as much attention to piss them off, until they gave up. And they were close, claims before the Wizengamot of major publications had become more of a rarity, but it wasn't for her sake, it was for their reputation. 

Nobody believed her, and there was no more breath in her chest to convince them. She would carry it until it became too heavy. 

Circe reached for her hair products, willing herself to not think anymore about the past, bought from a witch in France, coconut and vanilla scented, which were the only things that helped made her thick hair manageable. It was relaxing and healing to simply focus on her hair in that moment, on how her fingers knotted in some sections which she brushed through, on how she massaged her scalp with the pads of her fingers.

Nothing else for those few blissful minutes but the sounds of the water lapping around her, and her calmed breathing. But as soon as she lifted herself to the edge of the tub and out of it, all the thoughts came flooding back in. Of what Blaise said, of Draco and his ‘competition’, of Josephine’s letter she had yet to open, of her parents which had been suspiciously quiet, and surprisingly of Theo’s behaviour the night before. The latter she found herself analysing perhaps for something she was missing but even she was unsure. Maybe she was just tired, Gods how often she convinced herself that was what was wrong.

A knock resounded at the door, Pansy’s morning voice raising her from her thoughts.

“Circeeeeeeeeeeee…. I need to peeeeeeee,” She sighed and unlocked the door in only her towel, wet hair still dripping down her bath.

“Where’s Astoria?” Pansy brushed past her, not bothering to close the door. A light blush began on her cheeks and she looked well-rested.

“Oh, yeah, she left a few minutes ago to get ready for brunch. Oh no I forgot to—,”

“Blaise did, he woke me up in the common room.”

“You slept there?” Pansy was washing her hands, with a rose scented soap Astoria bought for them.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” _And I could only think of a certain hand wrapped around my neck._

_“_ You wouldn’t have,” Circe erupted in a fit of laughter.

“Am I to believe you and Astoria sat here and cuddled? Hmm? Shared some biscuits and tea? Read a book together?” She hadn’t expected Pansy to grow so red and bashful.

“I mean, well, er, you know…”

“Pansy stop, I’ve been with girls, I know it’s different. More meaningful in a way.” Her dorm mates eyes widened as she ran a brush through her hair.

“You have?” Circe nodded. “And do your parents know?”

“I would be shocked if they didn’t, word gets around fast around here, almost faster when the gossip includes one of us. Skeeter wrote an article about when I first kissed a girl at 15, made a huge deal out of it.”

“Circe, I didn’t know, I’m sorry it couldn’t be on your own terms, when I come out, thats how I want it to be. Not obliged, forced or given an ultimateum to do so.”

“It wasn’t really like that for me. I mean it just happened, and it is a part of me—gender never really mattered, but it was horrible because it intersected with another horrible event in my life. Snogging people and getting lost in them was a my way of feeling like myself, and Skeeter made it seem like I was a stupid little girl desperate for attention. Like I couldn’t possibly _want_ to have kissed a girl.”

“Wow, Circe, I dont know what to say,”

“No. I mean you don’t have to say anything, I guess I’m telling you to show you that it may seem like the end of the world, like so many people care, when in reality it will be forgotten within a week. Gods, it was so fucked up of Skeeter though. My parents constantly sue her publication and even with their influence she is protected under some fucking statute.As if her gossip pieces are deserving to be protected as free speech. As if the whole wizarding world has to know so much about me. You know, I think she has people following me around.”

Pansy said nothing more as they both tidied up their room, with an hour to spare until three, by the time they were done. They traded sweaters and tried on clothes, their room soon becoming flooded by mountains of cashmeres and silks. Circe zipped up a pair of black pants, that were part of a set she could not find, but instead paired it with a white turtleneck—the last of calm September weather was leaving them and the chill was coming. She truly couldn’t be bothered to make up another outfit, with no coffee in her.

“What was her name?” Pansy dressed her, a strange look in her eyes.

“Whose name?”

“The girl from when you were 15,”

“Oh, Naoko. She still goes to Mahoukotoro, taught me a lot about life.”

“Naoko sounds lovely,” Circe snorted in a quite unladylike manner.

“Well, she hadn’t talked to me since. Skeeter made sure she was quite recognizable—her parents forbade her to even look in my direction. Thats what hurt more.”

After a hug from Pansy which felt strange, and an exchange of cuss words directed at Rita Skeeter, they finally made their way down to the common room, the agreed meeting place. They hadn’t meant to be five minutes late, and Blaise exaggerated groan was comically unnecessary.

“Finally! You two took your time, let’s go.” He put on a black jacket and led the way.

Circe found herself, with a deep sense of deja vu from her first night, falling behind to walk alongside Theo, who still looked exhausted.

“Morning Theo,” She hugged her jacket around her body, glancing at Theo sideways. His brown hair, usually in those very upperclass long waves, seemed uncharacteristically shaggy and his eyes were still rimmed with a faint ring of red. And he wasn’t smiling. Circe wasn’t one to comfort people, let alone 17 year old boys, but she could attempt to.

“Theo,” He bristled up at the mention of his name, and looked at her. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, thanks love.” He called all the girls various sweet names. She was love and darling, Pansy was buttercup, and Astoria was dear. Theo had that way with girls, making them feel special.

“You sure?”

“Just family shit, my father and my older brother seemed to focus all their attention on me all of a sudden.” He linked their arms, tugging her close, as they fell into a comfortable pace. “What about you, love? You’re looking beautiful today,” It would take her _years_ to realise, that he only was like that with her, not with all the girls like shethought. And it made everything simultaneously worse and perhaps a little better.

“Took a long bath, feel very refreshed." She took a deep breath. "I can listen Theo, you know, you can talk to me. I happen to be equipped in dealing with ‘family shit’,” She halted and so did he, and she squeezed his hand to emphasize. He looked close to tears, and she wished she didn’t hate hugs so much.

_Fuck it, I can be a good friend._

She got up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms around his neck, nestling her head in the crook of his neck, sighing and breathing in his scent. Her hands were not shaking yet, t _his is good, this is good, this is okay._ His arms snaked around her waist and she could hear him breathe softly. She toyed with the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck in a comforting manner and decided he just might be the only person she enjoyed hugging. Circe wasn’t sure for how long they were interlocked for , or how the others just left them there, but they were interrupted by a cough and a giggle.

_You should do well to remember, who held you with no expectations as compared to who held you with a further use, who could set aside their toxic ambitions, their inherent anger and selfishness, to just simply be there. _ _Remember who could, and who could never really. Who you thought could and who did. Thats something her hardened older self wished her younger foolish self could remember, and heed. But we don't always truly get what we want. _

She broke the hug and was met with a very indecorous looking Draco Malfoy, one arm lazily slung around the cute ginger girl—Muriel. His shirt has three buttons undone, and her hair was extremely messy and she had a weird white stain on her cheek. Circe hoped it was just toothpaste.

“Are you two lovebirds quite done with the affection? And Circe, what would Cedric say?” He feigned shock. She scoffed quite loudly and Theo’s soft expression was replaced by a stern one at the mention of Cedric.

Gods, it was like she had forgotten about her and Draco's competition, about what happened in the early hours of the day.

“Fuck off Malfoy,” She rolled her eyes and turned to the girl accompanying him. “Hello, I don’t believe we’ve met Muriel, I’m Circe—Cedric told me about you,” That was a lie, he certainly hadn’t, she just _knew_. Draco interrupted her attempt at a polite handshake, by side stepping her and moving ahead of them, clearly going to the same restaurant. She dragged Theo along, after marvelling at the blond boy’s immaturity for a moment.

“We’re late,” was all Theo said, shaking his head.

* * *

The restaurant they were to eat at, one of three in Hogsmeade, was apparently all their favourites, so she trusted her friend’s choice. The Three Broomstick’s was cozy, with thick wooden beams that looked medieval and a crowded with all sorts of people, not just students bustling through or laughed at tables. Her mother would despise it, turn her nose up and refuse to enter the establishment run by a stern-looking old woman Madam Rosmerta. She nodded at Blaise and led them to a corner booth. They all filed in, and she found herself sitting in between Theo and Blaise, across from Draco and Muriel. The table was large, round and a bit sticky but she overlooked it and grabbed the thin menu left in front of her.

_Eggs and ham_

_Eggs and beans and ham_

_Egg and bean and ham and toast_

_Eggs and beans and ham and toast and mushrooms_

_Sausage_

It made her laugh quietly to herself, though she couldn’t stop herself. Theo looked at her curiously as she reached for the water pitcher in an attempt to perhaps quell her thirst, but ended spilling some on her plate. Thank the Gods it was empty or else she would have flooded a plate of _Eggs and beans and ham and toast and mushrooms._

“Why are you laughing?” Theo asked her, the corners of his mouth twisting up.

“I-, I don’t know,” She tipped her head back, unable to be civil, and pointed to _Sausage._

Blaise joined in on her laughter, and soon enough so did the whole table, except Draco. Yet she found herself laughing more as she heard Muriel’s frankly donkey-like laugh, loud and uneven. Theo must have noticed too because they made eye contact and fell into themselves with raucous laughter.

Madam Rosmerta arrived by the time their laughter died down like the embers remaining after a fire. She took each of their orders, with a sweet smile, making suggestions, but her smile abruptly dropped as she reached Circe. In fact she looks positively appalled.

“And for you Miss?” Her tone was cold, and Circe wondered which of Skeeter’s insipid articles she must have read to recognise her when her name hadn’t be mentioned, and been impacted enough to form an opinion.

“I’ll have a coffee and a plate of eggs and toast.” And perhaps Circe wasn’t as nice as she could have been but she was tired, of the stares and whispers. Suddenly the reason why Agnes van Astor would despise this place came to her, and it wasn’t just the sticky tables and crowds.

“Eggs and toast are not an option,”

“Then could I have eggs, beans, ham and toast without beans and toast?” Madam Rosmerta nodded frowning and walked off.

* * *

The conversation flowed seamlessly between them, with laughter and contained shouting, and Circe took the time to observe her group of friends. Blaise was the natural director, facilitating conversations and even directing them at times. He spoke with great flair, but also understanding as if he folded himself to all of them. It reminded her of her mother at parties. The only person she would not hold herself to fit, was Circe. Ironic.

Next to him, Pansy sipped on tea and had her arm around Astoria’s chair nonchalantly, stealing glances at her secret girlfriend. And Astoria, Gods, Astoria had the demeanour and disposition her parents would have probably wished for in a daughter. She stood straight, not a hair out a place, graceful long neck adorned in a small green pendant.

Theo poked her leg so her observational focus shifted onto him. He fiddled with his fork and tapped his pointer finger on the table mindlessly, as he joined in on the conversation with quips and remarks, often using sarcasm. He smiled at her quite often and she found herself smiling back. It was just so easy with him.

And then there was Draco, the Malfoy heir, the boy she had shared her berry tart with at ten, and her challenger. They were making eye contact, he had one hand in Muriel’s lap though it seemed to be moving quite—Gods, he couldn't be could he? 

Gods, was he fingering her under the table? She quickly looked at Muriel who was red-faced, breathing abnormally and biting her lip. Why had no one else noticed?

Gods! The nerve he had astonished even her, though, she was in a similar situation once at Beauxbatons with an Etienne, and she was on the receiving end. So, theoretically Draco was old news.

Muriel let out a loud badly disguised moan-cough. She knew for certain they were all looking at her now. Draco’s hand was still moving at an angle, and she was tempted to almost look under the table just to prove her guess right.

“You all right there Muriel?” Oh, Blaise was good.

Muriel’s eyes were almost fully closed, momentarily white, her irises rolling back into her head, and she underwent a violent shudder, before weakly responding. “Yeah,” Her face became even redder, and she averted her eyes, from any of them.

Circe watched Draco grab a tissue from the pile on the table, and wipe his right hand clean, focussing much too much on three ringed fingers. He had a look of smugness on his face, of unbridles satisfaction. Immediately he caught her looking at her, and winked salaciously. The lack of shame, the audacity he had perplexed her-then she took a second to realise that it shouldn't. 

She closed her eyes, and it was her turn to avert her gaze, nodding gently at something Blaise bellowed out. Madam Rosmerta hadn’t appeared with their table’s food, and she found herself aimlessly poking at her plate, when a certain pretty boy walked in creating a loud racket.He wasn’t alone, but with four or five other boys. 

“Cedric!” She shouted once getting out of her seat, chair scraping loudly against the floor. Throwing one last glance at her table, she saw Pansy wink, then mouth a question she immediately deciphered.

_ Going for a shag?  _ She mouthed back a response of her own, holding up five fingers making Pansy snort and shake her head. _Yes with all five of them. _

Circe watched him look around then smile bashfully as he saw her approach him. He opened his arms wide and she hugged him, though not as long as she had hugged Theo, but still there in front of everyone. His friends whooped like hormonal twelve year olds besides him.

“Hi, pretty boy. You’re everywhere,” The dimples she found adorable appeared on his face. And then she remembered the game, and Draco with Muriel.

“Are you here by yourself?” He asked, scratching the back of his head.

“No,” She pointed to her table, Blaise waved. “Want to go outside and talk?”

He nodded and she let him lead the way to the street outside the Three Broomstick’s. Once outside, she coyly regarded him, beneath a flutter of eyelashes and catlike grin.And she pressed her lips against his with no warning, and found herself enjoying kissing him. He was good, not the best, and a fan of tongue, obviously, but _good_. She held his face in her hands for a while before locking her arms behind his neck. Cedric pushed them closer, and she felt just how excited he was to kiss her, against her thigh as she deepened their kiss.

But this was just bait, it wasn’t time to reel him in yet. She learned that expression from a Muggle movie she sneaked out to watch. Truthfully, she was clueless to its meaning.

Circe broke the kiss with a noisy sound and Cedric looked bewildered, panting. She noticed a large green beetle on the wall besides them, marvelling at its multitude of shades of green. A man passed them, she became suddenly aware of her surroundings on the busy street, and she brushed off a thought that she heard the loud pop and crack of a picture being taken.

Who would be in Hogsmeade? 

“I like your hair,” She said ruffling slightly, and kissing his cheek not waiting for his response before going back inside. And it was a lie, and it was easy to lie, and it made her feel oddly frivolous. If she had asked Cedric Diggory to sit on her lap in front of her friends, there was a extremely high chance he would have abided to her wish. The heat of the restaurant once more positively reddened her cheeks, and she patted a side of her hair down before sitting down at the table again. She guessed her lips were probably a tad swollen, as they always got after a snog.

“What did you two talk about?” Pansy’s voice was fun, and teasing.

“Oh you know, the weather, and our hair,”She poked Theo’s leg, but he focused on his mug of tea in front of him, ignoring her.

“Your hair?” Pansy prodded, and Circe played along for her sake.

“I was keen to know what he does for the frizz, what products he uses,” Astoria smiled at her shaking her head.

“And what does he use?”

“The fucker refused to tell me,” The table burst out laughing, and she didn’t miss the way Draco raised his glass at her as if to say congratulations. She reciprocated with her mug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is Speed by Kali Uchis


	12. A ballet society and the usual correspondence

_Agnes van Astor_

_van Astor Estate_

_20th of September_

_Dear Circe,_

_You are cordially invited to dinner with your family and Timothy Beaufort on the 25th of September, Friday. Your sister will be in attendance, and yours is mandatory. Arrangements have been made for you to arrive by floo network, no need to apparate. Do wear something appropriate, and have your hair worn up. If you do not have satisfactory clothes, write back to me and you shall have something delivered._

_Your father and I are not pleased with you, and we have been forced to give in to this pest of a boy for the sake of our sanity. He has somehow found our address and has been trying to get past the gates for five days, day and night.His relentlessness is applauding but worrying in it’s obsession. I do not know if you have promised him something but this is unacceptable and humiliating, even for you Circe._

_Your father also wishes to have a discussion with you, about your future, so it would be in your favour if you were to show up sober and receptive, unlike the last four dinners. Though, I do not know how you would manage to even acquire substances at that school in the middle of nowhere. Regardless, remember who you are Circe, always, and act accordingly. You have great things planned for your future, all you need not do is ruin it by then._

_Furthermore, congratulations on your performance in school. I am sent reports and they are good, but they could be better. You are smarter than all of these little children, why do you not wish to show the world that?_

_Lastly, please do not misbehave (like you somehow always manage to) I am told Rita Skeeter, that unbecoming hag, has eyes and ears in Hogsmeade, where I am sure you have gone._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Agnes van Astor_

_(signature)_

* * *

_Circe van Astor_

_Hogwarts_

_21st of September_

_Dear Mother,_

_I do not wish to attend this dinner. Timothy wishes to propose, please do not make me come._

_And as for the other contents of your letter, of course I remember who I am—how could I even attempt to forget?_

_Sending my apologies,_

_Circe van Astor_

_(signature)_

* * *

_Agnes van Astor_

_Van Astor Estate_

_21st of September_

_Dear Circe,_

_Perhaps I was not clear enough, that invitation was a formality, I thought you would understand, though clearly I was mistaken. You are to attend, not only for this pest, but for my sake, and your father’s and your sisters. It is out of the question, or I will come to Hogwarts myself and drag you here. It starts at six, you are to be here at quarter to six._

_I was certain it was a proposal—I don’t know how you manage and I will not ask._

_I ask again, do you need me to have proper attire sent over?_

_Your mother,_

_Agnes van Astor_

_(signature)_

* * *

_Circe van Astor_

_Hogwarts_

_21st of September_

_Dear Mother,_

_Please check the attached parcel, and do impart your opinion if you think that is appropriate for this dinner. I was planning to wear just that under a coat with that pair of heels I bought in Paris. The ones you dislike for whatever reason._

_Kisses!_

_Circe van Astor_

_(signature)_

* * *

_Agnes van Astor_

_Van Astor Estate_

_22nd of September_

_Circe,_

_I am certain you have gone mad. There is no explanation for your behaviour. Have you no mercy for my heart? For my nerves? Josephine would never in her life act like this. Why can’t you be more like her?_

_You send me harlot’s clothes for what? No I don’t think a brassiere and that piece of material that I do not believe merits the name of a skirt are appropriate attire for a dinner. Much less a dinner of such magnitude. You really don’t want to make life easy for us, is that it? Well, you will not succeed, that I can assure you of. You think I cannot control my 17-year-old?_

_That is why I have taken the deliberate freedom of assumption and sent you a dress which you shall wear, with anything but those tart heels._ _I aim not above taking other measures to ensure you wear what is asked of you, it would do you well to remember that._

_Your mother,_

_Agnes van Astor_

_(signature)_

* * *

And that is how Circe van Astor started her Tuesday, with a letter from her mother and a parcel on top of her bed. It had been charmed against anyone but her wand opening it, as if the Slytherin students would have stolen her mother’s dress. She didn’t bother responding, she knew, she was much too angry to be relatively civil.

Circe ripped up the tissue paper of the box, just as Pansy exited their bathroom, bob perfectly arranged with a headband. She loomed over her as she took out the dress. Her mother wouldn’t send her a dress if it wasn’t an intricate masterpiece, and thats what this dress was. It was a soft forest green velvet, with an incorporated corset, and a draped velvet skirt that look dreamy. The top was the most surprising, off the shoulder and with quite some cleavage showing.

Still. She detested that her mother picked something she would choose for herself, if she had chosen a pompous pink disaster of a dress, perhaps she would have had an additional reason for not attending the dinner. 

“So beautiful,” Pansy mused, trailing her finger against the hem. “Try it on! We have a free first period,”

Circe groaned. “No, it will take hours just to lace me in,”

“No, it won’t, come on. Quit being a bore,” And so Circe shed her shirt and prepared to step into the dress as Pansy brought it up her body. It was tight and she already marvelled at how her hips filled it out, as if it was a second skin. Agnes was _good_ , she hated it.

She was holding her breasts in her hands as Pansy brought up the corset, and they fit perfectly into it.

“Breathe in,” The corset didn’t have strings, but golden buckles, that were hidden by the cut of the dress and the draping. It took her two minutes to close them all, and she stood straight, looking at herself by the mirror by the door. In a way, it scared her, reminding her of a future of balls and galas with aimless conversation and a chorus of sycophants, feigning control when she was powerless. But it also brought about a great sense of pride, for how she looked, for how she was still here, still trudging through life. An heiress that would make a choice, or perhaps hundreds, bad or good, terrible and regretful-but they would be hers. 

Except this dress, it wasn't her choice, but as soon as the last clasp tightened around her waist, it became hers. She was wearing the dress her mother sent, not the other way around. 

Pansy played with her hair, mocked putting it up, so they could see more of the dress. Her chest looked plump in it, accentuated by the corset, like her waist, yet it wasn’t done in a distasteful way.

“Gods, Circe—,” Pansy didn’t get to finish her sentence as Theo pushed on their unlocked door, Blaise in tow, stopping in their doorway.

“Pansy, I had the strangest thought just now as I was bringing your book—Oh.” Theo lifted his head from the book, and was looking directly at her. It was like yesterday, like he was looking through her in a way. Nobody said anything, until Blaise, ever the joker cleared his throat and broke the silence.

“Nice tits van Astor!” Blaise wiggled his eyebrows and she already moved away from them to sit on her bed, back painfully straight as she was unable to bend.She watched Pansy take the book from Theo and close the door firmly in their faces, much to Blaise’s protests. Circe got up, bunching the dress around her hips as Pansy undid the corset’s buckles, rambling on about how amazing the dress was. Her uniform was like a breath of fresh air, as she put it on and her and Pansy made their way to their first class—Potions.

* * *

Although Potions was a daunting class for most, needing a meticulosity that many lacked, it was Circe van Astor’s favourite subject at any of the schools she had attended. It was taught by her head of house, and was the only class the Slytherins didn’t have to be on their best behavior. The classroom in the dungeons, was small in comparison to say, the Transfiguration class, but it was filled with potions, and ingredients in all sorts of jars. And she knew that was only the half of it, Slughorn had several storage rooms.

She sat next to Pansy on a wooden stool, and pulled out her cauldron, waiting for Slughorn to announce the lesson.

“Today we will brew the Draught of Living Death." He spoke towards the whole class, then approached hers and Pansy's table, haughty smile on as he said her name. "Miss van Astor, if you would please aid Mr. Diggory in his brewing.” Just as she nodded politely, and collected her things to sit next to Cedric, who grinned at her, Draco walked in. She watched him apologise for his tardiness, and sit next to Pansy.

He caught her looking at him and raised a single eyebrow. She rolled her eyes, like she always found herself doing at anything he did, and focused her attention on Cedric and his already wrong aggressive shaking of green infusion of wormwood bottle.

“Woah, slow down pretty boy. That doesn’t need to be shaken like that, unless you want it all over your robes,” Cedric stopped, placing it gingerly on the table.

“Sorry, just saw Draco do it, figured it was correct.” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, Draco was shaking an empty green bottle, not one containing the infusion. And he knew what he was doing, messing with Cedric.

“Draco’s an idiot.” She measured out just the right amount for one Draught, and she let Cedric pour it in. Their hands touched briefly and she was certain he was blushing. Their Sunday kiss, and his obvious excitement flashed in her mind as they did.He cleared his throat, and she played on the same electric energy.

“How was your morning?”

“Long, had practice at six, and a class before this. I’m quite knackered,” She nodded and added powdered root of Asphodel.

“Stir twice, clockwise,” He picked up the stick, and stirred once, quickly.

“Slow down, unless you want it to blow up in your face. Asphodel root needs to be treated cautiously, it’s very potent.”

“Sorry,” She didn’t know why, but he was getting a bit on her nerves.

“You don’t need to apologise, just, listen,”

“Right. How was your morning?” Being a bitch wouldn’t guarantee she would win the challenge. But, it was much easier than being agreeable. 

“Got through some parcels from home, and lounged for a while. This is my first class,” Just before she could add the next ingredient, Cedric stumbled on something he dropped, making their cauldron fall of the edge of the table and down on the floor. She moved out of the way just in time, and muttered a quick protection charm, the cauldron fell gingerly down—not one drop out of place.Though it did make a loud clambering sound, the commotion attracting everyone’s attention. Cedric rapidly blew out apologies to Slughorn and to Circe. Her mouth set in a hard line, as she saw a very unsatisfied looking Draco, wand tight in his hand.

He had made Cedric trip. Instead of making a scene now, she decided to bide her time, to return the lovely favour.

* * *

Cedric insisted on walking her to her next class, even though it meant he would be late to his.

“Again, I’m really sorry for the incident in Potions, it doesn’t really help my case,” He sheepishly uttered, holding her books in his hands.

“Help your case with what?” She quickly retorted.

“With what I want to ask you,” They stopped in front of the Advanced Transfiguration classroom, other students circling past them to enter.

“Are you going to make me beg you to continue?” He handed her her books, and she arranged them in her arms before looking up at him.

“No, er, I wanted to—,” He took a step backwards, and looked sideways into the class, before looking at her again. “ I wanted to ask you on a date, tomorrow.” A fulfilled smile appeared on her face.

There it was, it wasn't a surprise-she never once doubted her abilities.

“Okay, pretty boy, I’ll go on a date with you.” She came closer to him, fiddling with his crooked striped yellow tie. “On one condition,”

“I, I’m listening,” He gulped, Gods why did she make him so nervous? It was definitely a turn off. 

“You promise not to bore me, so surprise me,” And with that she dropped his tie, entered the classroom without even as much of a second glance, and took her regular seat, next to Hermione. She actually liked Hermione, the girl took her studies seriously and she respected her for that, and Circe found herself in interesting discussions with her during classes. It was possible she dropped her opinion of her Skeeter created.

* * *

Circe had tracked down the wild-haired Gryffindor to ask her how one would go about acquiring a meeting with McGonnagal. After some rambling, some intrusive questions she brushed off with a scowl, Hermione managed to tell her how. 

And the simplicity of it annoyed her, because at all her other schools she had to make appointments with elaborate calling cards and waiting lists (of which money usually assured she did not spend long on) but at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonnagal had _office hours,_ and she would have to wait her turn like everyone else. 

She found McGonnagal's office after quite some walking around, trying to remember where she had been taken on the first day at school. Going over the two things she had to talk to the Deputy Headmistress about, she hesitated slightly before knocking on the large wooden door, after just about making out voices inside. 

Of course, she leaned into the door, forgoing a hearing charm, and tried to decipher the conversation.

"Miss Davis, if there is truth to these claims, then I will be left with no option, than to inform Headmaster Dumbledore, and your parents. So I ask you once more, was it you that-"

"Circe, what are you doing?" She quickly turned around, to see a smiling Cedric approach her from across the empty hall. 

"Oh," _Fuck_. "Well, just waiting my turn to have a meeting with Professor McGonnagal," 

"Why were you leaning against her door then?" She remained calm, prepared to lie her way through Cedric's questions but before she could even attempt the door burst open revealing a red-faced Tracey Davis storming out. The girl bumped past her shoulder aggressively, but her small frame didn't really do much damage, and if Cedric weren't there with her, she would have taught Tracey a lesson. 

"Ugh! Move out of my way you idiot!" Cedric respectfully moved aside, and Tracey pushed past him too. 

* * *

"Now, Miss van Astor, I assume you have not come to talk to me just in regards to the floo connection your mother inquired about requiring for you," The Professor looked at her through her spectacles, from behind her desk, just as she had on the first time she had been in her rooms.

The sun cast long shadows across the floor, and some across the woman's desk making her figure look exaggerated against the wall behind her. McGonnagal had been surprisingly welcoming of the Slytherin student, with a known reputation, and it may have had something to do with her outstanding Transfiguration performance. The older woman was dressed in purple robes, and brown hair, streaked with grey had been brought up in a simple bun. She stopped studying the woman, and began thinking of a way to best phrase what she wished to say. 

"Yes, there is something else I wanted to ask about Professor. I want to start a ballet and performing arts society, here at Hogwarts," 

"A ballet society," The woman echoed, seemingly pondering for a while. "What does a ballet society entail?" 

"A place to practice, to perform. I'm sure there are plenty of dancers hidden in these castle walls," She pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear,determination shining bright. "I take full responsibility for it all, my family can donate supplies, or funds to set up a studio," 

"Oh, can they now?" A hint of a smile played on McGonnagal's lips. 

"Yes, certainly. And I'll even take suggestions on certain pieces, ballets from you Professor-a little birdie told me you are quite the ballet aficionado," 

This was the first time, in her almost month at Hogwarts that she had seen her Transfiguration teacher smile, smile a wistful knowing smile. And it made her glad that she was the one to accomplish the daunting task. It wasn't a little birdie, it was her own personal research-she never would become accustomed to asking for help. So when she first got the idea, for a place where she could dance, where she could help others with their dancing, devising a plan to accomplish her dream was a given. 

It had not taken long, simply a letter to her old ballet teacher, who also taught her mother, to find out that a certain Minerva McGonnagal was a fan of the graceful art, and more specifically a fan of Agnes van Astor, when her mother had been in her prime as a 'prima ballerina'. Agnes van Astor had danced with a travelling ballet all throughout the world, and she had the stories and costumes to prove herself. Of course, Josephine would relay the stories back to her-of her mother floating across stages in Tokyo, Paris, of her performing the most complicated pas de deux on the night she had met Oscar van Astor, and the rest was history. 

And it took very little, just a quick observation, of the books on the bookshelves in McGonnagal's office to confirm her knowledge. If anyone could get her the ballet studio, the ballet society of her dreams, it would be Minerva McGonnagal.

"And you dance Miss van Astor?"

"Agnes van Astor would not have it any other way. I've been in pointe shoes since I was eleven, my sister the same."

"And why should Hogwarts accommodate this wish of yours?"

"I believe it would help a lot of people. I've been asking around-," The Professor interrupted her by raising a hand. 

"Now, as hopeful as I am that you want to help people, I do not wish to waste your time, or mine for that matter. So, what is the real reason?" Circe's eyebrows furrowed in concentration to determine what her teacher meant, and before she would come up with another lie, or half-lie, the truth itself spilled out of her mouth. It spilled out of her mouth, flowed perhaps, and she did not regret sharing with the older woman. 

"Ballet is my escape. It helps me forget for a while, who I am, where I am, what is asked of me, what is expected of me. It has saved me from a lot of horrible things Professor, and I know teenagers, and I know how many of them need an escape like that. You don't have to trust me, but you do have to believe me. Yes, I want to help myself, but in turn, by association that would be helping other as well. And ballet can be so beautiful, and I really don't need the school to provide much-save for a room. A room which I assure you I can turn into a studio." 

"Ah, so you admit, you want to help other Miss van Astor? It has been long since I have heard these words come from a Slytherin," Circe offered her a smile, a wicked little grin, catching on exactly to what the woman was implying.

"I want to dance. If others want to dance with me, who am I to deny them something so marvellous?" 

In her later years, far after Circe van Astor had graduated from Hogwarts, Minerva McGonnagal would pick up the Daily Prophet once in a while, and see all that her former student had done, and she would smile, reminiscing of this exact moment-when the snake had played her game, and the lion had conceeded, and she was happy she did. 


	13. Spin me by my waist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two days in one...one holds little performance by Slytherin's new 'prima ballerina' and the other the after maths of date with Cedric Diggory.

_Sunshine on my window_

_Makes me happy, like I should be_

_Outside, all around me_

_Really sleazy, then it hits me_

_Don't tell me, you can't see_

_What it means to me, me, me_

[-]

“A ballet society,”

“Yeah, a ballet and performing arts society run by yours truly,”Circe tightened the knot on her pale blush toned pointe shoes, determined to show Pansy a bit of her talent.

After her successful meeting with McGonnagal, she had sprinted back to her dorm, in search of her dorm mate, only to find her sprawled on her bed, cuddling a very adorable Phantom. She began speaking frantically with great enthusiasm, and Pansy had to calm her down, but before she could manage to, Circe had already found one of her many pairs of pointe shoes in her trunk and selected her most worn out pair.

“What are you doing Circe? You don’t have space to dance in here,” Pansy huffed out, eyes twinkling with amusement as she scratched right under Phantom’s chin.

“Not in here no,”

“Don’t you have a date with Cedric in an hour?”

“Hmm,” She glanced at the watch atop the ornate mirror. “Tomorrow,” She left the pointe shoes atop her bed, and quickly began unbuttoning her blouse, almost ripping at the buttons. It felt like she was bursting at the seams with joy-she was going to dance again! Here, at Hogwarts of all places!

Her shirt quickly flew off, and she was left in her black bra and tights, school skirt already off, and she knelt down to rummage through hertrunk, to find just the long-sleeved leotard she was looking for. Managing to put it on, in one seamless movement, she slipped on the accompanying pair of thin black leggings, to avoid exposing too much of herself.

She wouldn’t have minded, but decided on following dancer etiquette to a ’T’.

“And what are you doing now?”

“I want to fucking dance Pansy! Ah!” She jumped on Pansy’s bed, shaking her by her shoulders, a wild smile on her face. “I’m gonna dance!”

“And where will this dancing take place?”

“Well, until I can put together a studio with McGonnagal’s help, the common room shall do. I am rusty though, just want to see if I still know how to dance,” She slid off the bed and began stretching the pad of her feet, then her fragile ankles. “Maybe I’ll do an arabesque or two,” Privately, she marvelled at the absurdity of her statement, ballet was so deeply ingrained in her muscle memory, that it was likely she would forget how to talk before she forgot how to dance. She thought of her mother, when she was younger, when even after two children, Agnes van Astor could be found pirouetting and jumping summer days away inside their home ballet studio. Josephine would be the one who would enjoy those mother-daughter dances, Circe avoided them at all costs, doing her dancing in the middle of the night when she could be alone. 

Phantom meowed from the edge of Pansy’s bed, and Circe picked him up, twirling him around.

“Will you be my partner Mr. Phantom? Join me in a pas-de-deux?” Falling into the French terminology with ease, she realised, and made a mental note, it was likely she would have to start translating some of the not obvious terms from French to English. Just like her teacher had translated them from Italian and Russian to French. She doubted they would know what a _Sissonne attitude_ was, or a pas _de_ _Basque_ or even a _cabriole_ jump. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so happy,” Pansy remarked with a smile.

“Well, ballet is in my list of things I love, and I’ve just been told I can dance again!” She squealed, then grounded herself, letting Phantom scamper off from her arms back onto the floor.

“What else is on your list?”

“That, is a secret my friend,” Circe moved on to stretching her hips, feeling like an old lady as she pushed down on her knees in the butterfly pose. “Is anybody in the common room?”

Truthfully, she ought to have known, given that she passed through her common room a mere ten minutes ago, but she had ran in such an excited flurry she couldn’t remember a thing.

“Some first years, and I think Theo and Blaise have some project due,”

And that’s all it took really, of course, after a few more significant stretches until her limbs felt weightless and easy to manoeuvre, to drag Pansy away from her cuddle session and into the large Slytherin common room. Her dorm mate had been right, a handful of younger students were gathered in a far corner while her two friends—Theo and Blaise were each on opposite couches near the grand fireplace.The wood of the tip of the pointe shoes were bumping against each other, as she walked behind Pansy to the couches, humming a familiar Tchaikovsky tune to herself. Theo looked up at the two girls and smiled at her warmly from his book, while Blaise threw her his signature wink.

“To what do we owe the pleasure ladies?”

“Circe is finally proving to us that she's a ballerina,” Pansy quipped snakily, teasing her friend.

“Yes, it’s not like I’ve been dancing since I was four, and my mother used to be a prima ballerina. No, that was all a ruse,” She plopped down on the couch, placing the pointe shoes on the floor in front of her.

Unwrapping the ribbon just enough so she could slip on her left shoe, she smiled at the snug fit of the pointe she had not worn in over a month. Theo watched her intently, as she swiftly intertwined the two ribbons around her right ankle, then arched her foot, testing the fit.

“What are these called?” He took her left shoe, and studied it. First he flipped then he switched it from one hand to the other, tracing the stitching on the bottom with one long finger.

_CVA._

“Pointe shoes,” After lacing her right food, she took the left from his hands, and slipped it on, with the correct protection just like she had with the right.

“Why are they flat?”

“Have you never seen a ballet?” She was taken aback, by the snobbish tone which she had used to ask him, and made a point to apologise to him later. This wasn't Draco she was talking to, this was Theo. 

Her male French cousins, from her mother's side were grand romantic intellectuals who actually enjoyed going to the opera, or ballet, and given those were the same 'breed' of boys she assumed the Hogwarts boys were, she made assumptions. It turns out Blaise was the only one with an extensive knowledge of the arts-due to his upbringing, and he would later tell her that majority of British families were not like his. They wanted sons to grow up strong, ready to take over family seats in the Wizengamot, or family businesses, not be intellectuals who debated philosophy and attended ballets. 

“So she can bloodystand on them you idiot,” Blaise piped in from across from them, satisfied smile on his face. She had heard tales of his mother, and her passion for all things beautiful from him—various art forms like ballet included. On one odd ocassion, when he was high out of his mind, he even told her a funny story of how she took him to ballet lessons as a young boy, but he ended up being too embarrassed and crying. Afterwards, quidditich became what ballet was for her, but for him.

Theo opened his mouth to respond to Blaise, but soon shut it when Circe pushed off the low couch, and walked normally towards the centre of the room, where she did not need to manoeuvre around couches.

Then Circe van Astor, the impulsive Slytherin, the heiress, the black sheep of the van Astor Dynasty, became Circe van Astor, the _ballerina_.

Placing her arms in second position, open in a semi-circle, she dashingly smiled at her friends, and even at the small children behind them, who had stopped what they were doing and intently watched her. Now, she fully opened her arms, adjusted her feet, and the music began playing in her head, a slow, Tchaikovski, from the beginning of ‘Swan Lake’. One arms lifts above her head, while the other stays open, and she looks up at it, and inhales a deep breath. She moves to bend her knees, falling into a _plie_ , then lifts on pointe, into a _releve_ -where her legs are tightly bound together.

The familiar burn in her muscles starts, and she is grateful for its familiarity. Standing, just on her right leg, she extends the left in front of her at a slight bent, then repeats the move with her right leg. She enters fith position, then extends her legs into fourth, her feet vertical and separated. Circe glides as if on air, to a position more to her left, more centered, then her back leg lifts, while she drops her head to join her back, entering an _arabesque_ —with arms pointed accordingly.

Theo’s mouth is wide in shock, and Blaise is on his feet, in amazement, Pansy alongside him.

When the arabesque seems unsatisfactory, she bends, moving her torso downwards, leg stilll straight behind her. Blaise started clapping, and she is moved by it, to change positions. She drops the leg behind her, and falls into a deep, plie, before launching herself into a pirouette.

Circe spins once. Twice, and on the third she gets an idea.

“Blaise, come here,” The boy rushes to her side, and she regards him from on pointe, arms extended towards the sky. “Remember that move I did earlier, I’m sure you know it, the _arabesque_ ,” He nodded. “Well, I’m going to give you my hands, one on your shoulder,” She placed her left hand on his broad shoulder for emphasis, and left it there. “And the other you will hold,” His hand found hers, and enclosed tightly around it—her leg was already in the air.

“And now, walk around me, small, tight circle.”

And Blaise did as he was told, even smirking at Theo and Pansy who were staring from the couches. He walked around her in a perfectly coordinated circle, and just as he was about to close it, with her in front of him, she removed the hand from his shoulder.

“Now, spin me by my waist,” It was like a pirouette from before, only this time she loosened her body, Blaise being the centre grounding her. Large, rough hands settled around her waist, and she bent back into them as he spun her, hair falling from her bun, like a waterfall around her. Slightly, still on point, she nodded at him, and he stopped, holding her as she dipped down—so down her hair grazed the floor, then lifted herself back up. She could feel all the muscles in her back strain as she did, and her breasts peaking from behind the thin material of the leotard. 

Back on her feet, she dropped once more, knees bent, but now into a low bow, arms elongated behind her, as if they were the wings of a graceful black swan. Before she could breathe, Blaise picked her up from the ground, and spun her around, resulting in a burst of real, uninterrupted giddy laughter.

And it wasn’t him, it was her, overflowing with joy, true joy, from every pore after even this short dance—performance, if you will.

Blaise draped her over his shoulder and began sprinting around the common room. “ Blaise! Stop!” She pounded his back with her arms, still laughing as they passed the little children who were giggling with them, unused to seeing the impenetrable, older Slytherins just joking around.

“You must have a victory lap Circe!” He jumped over one of the couches, and she held tightly around his middle now. “We do this in Quidditch, come on van Astor, get a grip,”She was feeling too many things at once, and she could cry. Blaise stopped when he arrived at their starting point once more, placing her gently onto the couch he jumped over a moment ago.

First, she punched his shoulder lightly, “That’s for not asking me first,” then she wrapped her arms around him, feeling too alive to even worry about her hatred of hugs. “You idiot,”

They parted, and she finally breathed properly, taking in her friends on the couch opposite hers, as she undid one of the knots on her shoes. Theo never once took his eyes off her, and she felt bright and vivid and under his stare, not small or insignificant. 

“You’re, you’re incredible Circe, that was—,”

“That was nothing. My mother would be ashamed if she saw me, but I haven't practiced in a while so it's fine. Once I have music and a proper space, now, that, that will be something,”

“Still, you can’t deny it. You’re something else.” She smiled knowingly, and this was one of those moments, older Circe wished her to remember, always. And she would.

The first time they saw her dance, the first time Theo saw her dance. He would later tell her, how even at what she thought wasn’t her best, he thought she was the most talented dancer he had ever seen.Albeit, she was the only ballerina he had ever seen—exotic, burlesque dancers did not count, so she wasn’t sure about the compliment, but he made up for it.

“You believe me now Pansy?” She nodded at Pansy.

“Believe you? I want to be you, I’m joining this ballet society of yours if it means I’ll ever be able to do that!” The small girl gestured towards the area in the middle of the common room she had just been in.

“Deal.”

* * *

Circe collapsed onto her bed with a small smile on her face, disturbing her fat sleeping cat, Phantom. Pansy and Astoria were on her within seconds, questions flying around wildlyabout her date with the famed Hufflepuff captain. Wednesday was an easy day, and the date with Cedric had not been necessarily boring, or long, just a bit drawn-out and she was certain she was the only one who could feel it. Even if there was no Draco, no stupid competition, and even if Cedric was nice, there just wasn't anything _there._

“What did you do?”

“Where did you go?”

“What was he wearing, Gods if he was wearing those jeans…Sorry Pansy, I would simply have to admire his bum,”

“Hey!I have a much nicer bum than Cedric Diggory!” Circe burst out laughing as Pansy feigned jealousy, curling away from her girlfriend. The two girls, turned to face Circe, expectant looks on their face.

“Well…” Astoria breathed out, almost prodding Circe with her hand to begin her story.

It had been a good date. Cedric was wonderfully mediocre, but at least he was not a total bore. The heiress could tell he had put some sort ofeffort into their date, and he made well on his promise. And by the end of their night, he was melting right into the mould she willed for him. He reminded her of Timothy a bit, and the memory of the lovesick puppy made her dread the dinner she was to attend in two days even more.

Cedric, who was in fact wearing the dark jeans Astoria was referring, that curved satisfactionarily around those Quidditch-hardened thighs, waited for her outside of her common room at the end of classes that day. He informed her they would have to make a stop before their date, and he took her to Honeydukes.

Cedric picked out his favourite sweets, and insisted to pay for hers, as if she hadn’t enough money in her monthly allowance to buy the whole shop, but nonetheless, she relented and he paid. Then he took her back to the grounds, to a little bench under the shade of a tree. They talked of nothing and everything, but the view, of the sun setting around them, and Cedric’s arm comfortably around her, had made her time wasted worthwhile.

“He took me somewhere on the grounds, at this cute little bench, under a tree,”

“And you snogged his face off!” Astoria interrupted.

“And we ate sweets from Honeydukes, and strawberries. We just talked, cuddled, he’s quite the romantic I’ll have you know,”

“What did you talk about?” Pansy asked, pulling a familiar bottle of witches’ brew from a box under her bed, and unscrewing the cap.

“Er, school, family, the future,” That was a lie. Circe couldn’t remember a singular remarkable thing from their conversation. But she could remember all of Draco’s words from their last meeting in the Astronomy Tower. Or anything Theo sacred with her, even conversations with Blaise, Astoria, Pansy. She could recite teacher's lessons from her classes that day, but she couldn't recall a single topic of conversation with Cedric. Pansy blew a raspberry, indicating the end of their conversation.

They passed around the pink bottle between them huddled up on her bed, and it felt bittersweet, because she could never do this with her actual sister, they were close but so far away. And even if she had known the girls for little time, they warmed her cold little heart with their remarks and their silent understandings.

Perhaps she was warmed enough, to not show up plastered to the family dinner, perhaps they would see she made an effort to be around them. Effort to be around her real family, her blood, though that wasn't highly likely. 

Maybe she would try, just this once. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm what surprises can a ballet club bring.... also this chapter spans over 2 days and the next will be Friday, the day of her dinner  
> Hope you enjoyed it <3  
> Song is Calypso by Spiderbait (Can you tell I re-watched 10 Things I Hate About You lol)


	14. Mimi is happy to see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a normal dinner at the van Astor Estate

_G uess I just must be a daredevil_

_I don’t feel anything until I smash it up_

_I’m caught on the cold, caught on the hot_

_Not so with the warmer lot_

_And all I want’s a confidante_

_To help me laugh it off_

_/And don’t let me ruin me_

_[-]_

It was Theo who kept her company, in the dress she felt silly to be around him in, and muddled her nerves before the dinner.Theo seemed to be quite proficient in the ‘family shit’ department and he tried to understand as much as he could, on that dreadful Friday night at the end of September. Yet he couldn’t, Circe could tell, but he tried to, and that was more than she could say for most people. He really tried, and she did not disregard it. 

Theo waved his hand in front of her.

“Circe?” Her head snapped up to gaze at him.

“Hmm,”

“I asked when you will think you’ll be back? From the dinner,” He moved a pillow from under him, and discarded it on the adjacent couch. She watched his hands as they flexed, and closed her eyes momentarily. 

“Late, if I don’t spend the night.”

“Yeah I hope you won’t,” His blue eyes widened and he coughed. “I mean, you, er know,”

“What?” It was too late to question him further, the clock striked quarter to six. The time for her to leave had come.

Theo stood up with her, and even in her heels, he towered over her. He offered his hand, and she took it, everything on her body being suddenly too tight and too frilly. The Slytherin prefect informed her she would be using the fireplace in the common room, that it had been reconnected to the floo line, for this occasion only—at her mother’s behest. Of couse, she already knew that from McGonnagal but did not interrupt the prefect when he spoke passionately.

She gathered her dress in her hand, as she ducked to step into the fireplace. Theo was there to hand her the floo powder but before she did, she quickly stepped out and latched her arms around him.

At first he was frozen, then he wrapped his own arms around her and buried his head in her hair, just as she did. Theo squeezed her, tight, large warm hands around her waist, her lower back.And for a second, she forgot about the dinner, and Timothy and her parents, she just let herself be held.

“For luck,” She sheepishly said pulling away, so out of character for her. Being around Theo made her softer around the edges. She hated hugs, though, she quite liked being hugged by Theo.

“For luck,” He echoed, just as she reached out a tentative hand, and gently pushed away a strand of hair, that had fallen on his forehead, back to behind his ear.

Before she could say anything else, the door opened, and in strolled Draco. He paused before them, at the two of them so close, and opened his mouth, perhaps for a snide remark, but Theo had already turned to him, and she missed the unspoken agreement between them. And Draco had not made his snide remark, and Theo’s eyes were back on her again. At times she wondered how Theo could consider him his best friend. And then she remembered her character was not as distant from his as she thought, and frankly, neither was Theo’s sometimes.

Circe accepted the green powder and entered the fireplace once more, not wanting to give her mother another reason to chastise, but the words she needed to say were blocked in her throat. It was now or never, and she erupted into the familiar green flames, _van Astor Estate_.

* * *

Those cold silver eyes were the only thing on her mind as she stepped out of the fireplace of the west wing ‘greeting’ room to be met with the even colder stares of her parents.

Oscar van Astor, a man who loved to boast but whose only talents included sitting on a fortune that was fed to him and being a distant father, was standing tall next to his frosty wife. His expression did not change as she slipped out of the fireplace, dusting herself off, it remained impassive, and unbetraying in that very aristocratic way. He was wearing a charcoal three-piece suit, and she loathed how much of her features she shared with him. Oscar would have been handsome, thick dark hair, piercing green eyes, and recently a moustache, he would have been handsome, yes, if he wasn’t such a spineless twat.

She was lucky he was also not a legilimens.

Her mother, the picture of wealth, standing next to him but not close was his opposite. Light features, blue eyes, flowing golden hair, and a thin figure, everything about her was graceful, ballet dictating her muscles forever. The grace of a thousand ballerinas flowed through this retired one.

Yet she wasn’t handed a fortune, Agnes van Astor did come from money, but as the youngest of eight siblings, she certainly wasn’t a favourite. She had enough determination to compensate for the lack of the feature in her husband, though, she never got credit for it. Women never did, she had to learn that the hard way. And, possibly in another life, where she was Agnes of House Burgundy, not van Astor, they would have been friends, but Agnes, her mother, was one of those people that should not have had kids. Circe hated herself everyday, as she became more like her, and it terrified her for her future.

After the _thing_ , and her parents' reaction or lack thereof, she vowed to never have a child in a household like theirs. To never let a child grow up raised by governesses and house-elves, and boarding schools far away. Children were not something that amazed her, how they amazed the affectionate Josephine, and she sometimes wondered if Josephine's offspring would be the next heirs of van Astor. Shaking the thought away, she stepped out of the fireplace, dusting her hands on the curtains beside it, much to her mother's dismay. She forgone the quick _Scourgify_ charm she could have performed wandless, to clean up her mess, appearing to deliberately forget it. 

They made no move to embrace her, or something silly like that—showing affection, and she was once again a small child beneath their gaze. She wished nothing more than to run crying to Mimi and stuff her face with berry tarts.

But she wouldn’t , they wanted her to be _the_ Circe van Astor, and she would be her tonight. Not Circe, not love or darling, or Circe-bear, she would be their heir.

“You’re late,” Her mother said, and she ignored it.

“Where’s Jo?”

“Your sister has been entertaining your friend, we have all been waiting on your arrival,” Oscar was the first to leave the room, and her mother followed suit, beckoning for her to come. He took a left, not towards their usual dining room, but towards the one reserved for guests.

It was the perfect time to re-acquaint herself with her home. Tiled marble floors caused so much noise as they walked on, and the portraits on the high walls regarded her with curiousity. She knew them all by name, though she preferred to play dumb in front of her parents. It was much more entertaining. 

Louis Fitzwilliam Anthony van Astor shook his head, and tapped his cane on the floor of his portrait in disagreement as he saw her. The portrait next to him—Josephine Maxine, her sisters’s namesake, bowed deeply and smiled wistfully.

“Are Timothy’s parents with him?” Her voice echoed in the hall, accentuated by the grand ceilings that never seemed to have an end. Sometimes, a house can be too large.  The combined noise of both the woman's heels was the only sound in the hallway, before her mother decided to acknowledge her question.

“No, _Circe_ ,” That was how her mother always said her name, like it was heavy on her tongue. Sometimes she forgot her mother was French by the way she spoke English in that very upperclass way. Not at all like the accents she heard throughout the walls of Hogwarts.

Finally, they reached the grand double doors of the dining room, and she willed herself to wait patiently for her father to search for his wand. He could simply push on the handles, and this was something, a way he did things, she never understood. Agnes sighed from next to him, and raised her own hand, made a flicking motion and the doors shuddered open. Their daughter caught the knowing glance shared between them.

Agnes van Astor was a direct descendant of Merlin, her magic always far outshone her husbands. She almost never needed a wand, like her daughters, as she had been taught to master her magic both ways. A formality. And Oscar was weak, not accomplished or ambitious, but Oscar was also filthy rich, so she put up with it. 

The dining room, reserved for guests was decorated in light shades, and it would have been welcoming if it wasn’t filled up by her parents. The carpets were a soft cream threaded with gold thread that caught light form the sconces on the white walls, and a long rectangular table, enough to fit twenty, thirty people, occupied the centre of the room. The table was already set, five places arranged. In a corner, she saw Josephine, decked out in a flowing lilac dress, and a curly haired Timothy Beaufort.

Josephine saw them first, squealed and ran across the dining room, abandoning Timothy to squeeze her twin in a extremely powerful embrace.

“Circe, oh how I’ve missed you,” They stared into their eyes, perhaps Jo was searching for something. And she went in for a second hug. “Oh, I could cry!” Josephine smothered her, and whispered a very key piece of information into her ear only for them to hear.

“ _His father’s business just went bankrupt, it’s not love.”_

They shared a very, very wicked glance, and she plastered on a sweet smile. She needed a drink. 

Her sweet, gentle Josephine was as much a Slytherin as she is.

* * *

As they drifted towards the table, she had to admit, Timothy Beaufort, was a good actor though he truly wasn’t convincing anyone. The table had been set by Mimi, of course, probably with additional help. A rack of lamb crusted in mint (the little house-elf speciality) was in the center, on a wide porcelain platter, and she could smell it from her seat. Around it, little add on's were found, roasted vegetables, colourful salads, and much too much food for five people. Timothy was already stuffing his face with a roll of bread, and she saw her mother regard him distastefully. The woman was big on manners, and table etiquette, so it must have been a surprise to see the French boy of all people, act like a common oaf. 

“Yes, Miss van Astor, mon papa has a chain of shops across France—,” He spoke between bites, articulating with his fork and knife. Circe herself, was toying with the glass of whiskey that she found in front of her plate, and she accepted it gratefully. It was the Japanese cherry-wood firewhiskey kind, but a more expensive brand, from her father's collection nonetheless-the after taste was different. It seemed only her and her father were drinking, while Josephine had no glass before her, and her mother had an empty champagne flute. 

She tapped the champagne flute once, and before she could blink, it refilled. 

“Misses van Astor, not Miss.” Timothy paled, looking terrified.

“Yes Misses and Mister van Astor, I thank you for the food but I believe there is no point for me to, er, how does that expression go, run around the bush, walk around the bush?” He looked lost.

And she thought of a simpler time, when he would make her cum, once or twice a week when she wanted him to, in empty classrooms or deserted hallways at Beauxbatons. But then she took him to London, and that was her mistake, because she had always been impulsive, and she learned how to deal with the consequences on her own, but bringing a foolish boy that trailed after her like a lost puppy was simply dumb. It was even dumber to assume she wouldn't be seen on her three-day long binge, by anyone who could report it back to Skeeter. When your mind is cloudy, alcohol, drugs, attention, consequences are like funny little clouds that float away after you look at them too long. 

Her parents didn't understand that, so here she was, being almost tortured. Why tortured? Because, they could have refused his proposal outright, like she had asked her mother to, but instead they forced her, away from school, away from a small sense of comfort, and sober nonetheless to endure a mindless dinner. For what? To teach her a lesson, or at least to remind her of one. 

It's not that she doesn't think about consequences, she does all the time-before bed in a fast-breathing panic, or right before she's about to royally fuck up once more, she just can't be bothered enough to care. The stupid little competition with Draco would have numerous consequences, would create enemies and break hearts, but still, to some degree, she couldn't bring herself enough to care. 

“Beat around the bush,” She willed herself to not laugh and wondered if her English sounded like his to her friends at Hogwarts, so deeply coated in French. He cleared his throat and stood up, arranging the lapels of his suit coat before embarking on what promised to be a humiliating monologue.

“My dear Circe, the love of my life—,”

“Please stop.” She looked at her parents, her mother’s eyes were possibly hexing him as she stood there, and her father toyed with a glass of whiskey, unbothered. Timothy was taken back, though not defeated. Josephine, well, Josephine was braiding a piece of her hair aimlessly, and looking right back at her, bemused. 

“I have loved you—,” Love, what a foolish idea. At most a mutual like, or maybe not. She probably didn't know what real love was, and probably never would, or at least the romantic kind.

 _You're wrong once again_ , Circe from the future wished to intervene, _you will one day, and it will be the most superb thing you have ever experienced, it will throw you off, and you certainly won't see it for the longest time, but it's there-a small bulb of love, nurtured to full bloom._

“Stop,” It wasn’t funny anymore, it was embarrassing. Was he on drugs? Had she gotten him hooked on something? 

“since I knew you. Ma cherié, mon petit chou chou, you bring light into my life, and—,” She looked once more, but the whites of his eyes were pearly, not bloodshot or wide open. No, he was fully sober. Gods.

“Stop, Timothy stop,” Her parents were now watching her and so was he, and she knew it was a a test now. How would they want their heir to diplomatically handle this?

Fuck their heir, fuck her parents, she was mad.

She was angered deeply at the audacity of this boy, at the audacity of her mother, and maybe her next actions were dictated by that anger or maybe they were not. One could never really fully know. 

“Circe,” He pronounced it like everyone at Beauxbatons—Ser-seh, not the correct way, not even respecting the name she carried. “I cannot live without you, please do me the honour, the pleasure, of becoming my—,”

All people, the good and the bad, the sweet and the scary, have a breaking point, a level where should something or someone be taken there, it would be too much. And with a BOOM, they explode. 

But she wasn’t there anymore, she was lost back in that land of her mind. She was watching herself from above, hands grasping the table. The Circe sitting at that table, vexation painted clearly on her face, was not her. They were separate.

Yet she heard everything that Circe did, saw everything that Circe did. Her mother’s hexing Timothy’s lips shut, her father’s temper imploding like hers would have in a flurry of jabs thrown at her, not at the boy who insisted on the scene, but at her. Like they always are. 

_Do you see now? Do you see where your little whore act gets us? You are a disgrace to this family. I spend my Fridays witnessing this madness? It’s all your fault._

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

_It’s all your fault_

Was it?

And the Circe from above saw everything the Circe from below saw. The way her sister changed at the words thrown, her father’s red face, and worst of all, her mother’s passive agreeing. Because they all knew this wasn’t just about a stupid boy proposing, her father was talking about _the thing_. 

And this is her point, their level, both the Circe from above and below, met again, melded together and everything was brighter and louder. The two decided that, finally, they had had _enough_. They all wanted Circe van Astor? They would get someone much worse.

“ENOUGH! FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU AL!” She slammed the table loudly as she pushed her chair back with as much of a kick she could manage in the silly dress. Still it toppled over, landing with a thud that made Josephine jump.

“I’VE HAD IT WITH THIS FUCKING FAMILY,” Good, they were silent, they were quiet, they were receptive. “You blame me for everything?I bring shame upon you? Circe this and Circe that, yet you scarcely look at yourselves! Father, you lecture _me_ on fault? You are lucky I don’t share what I know with them,” She pointed to her sister and mother, one looking down at her plate and the latter seething with rage looking up at her. “You dare blame me for _the thing_? For that? How could you?” Circe blinked away tears, and stood even taller, they did not earn her obedience, her kindness, her biting her tongue.

“I was barely fourteen! I was a child and I lost that, and I kept my mouth shut for this fucking family. I've kept all your secrets.” Her left hand was shaking and her breathing came out in ragged pants. “ And Mother, how can you sit there? Above all, you disgust me the most. You are the biggest hypocrite… No, you will let me finish. I come here as a courtesy to you all, away from my school in a fucking corseted dress, and I am sober to make you all fucking happy.” Her voice cracked as she said happy. She saw Josephine flinch, and look down at her plate, even she wouldn’t meet her eyes. Yet her silence was complicit.

Sometimes, bravery comes in different ways, and she had never really been brave, she left it for the self righteous, bu this, this was her moment of bravery. Of freedom, after pretending to ignore everything that was said to her since birth, and...it felt liberating. Circe van Astor was invincible. Circe van Astor was a God, a Goddess that needed to be worshipped. 

“And I shouldn’thave to remind the great van Astors of the laws of the Wizarding world, of the blood promises of this family. The second I turned seventeen I officially became _your heir_ , it is an unbreakable bond, you cannot force me to do anything.” She laughed madly, as she narrowed her eyes at her red-faced father. “And when you die, dear Papa, they will all remember me, as the van Astor heir, not you. And I could throw you to the streets tomorrow if I so desire, but I _won’t_. Keep that in mind.”

And in a grand finale, she rested her mad eyes on the catalyst of tonight’s climax, Timothy Beaufort.

“And you, you idiot. You are nothing to me, _nothing_. And when I am done with you, you will be nothing to everyone, nothing but a silly little annoying, pest. Mark my words Beaufort. I will erase you off this planet, you will never amount to anything of consequence as long as I shall live, you are a leech, and you have overstepped greatly.” A grin passed on her lips, dropping a few French insults that made her mother bristle. 

Calling Timothy 'un roi de cons', or a king of idiots had started it, then she moved onto more personal ones, a bit too deragotory of his village background, she called him a, 'plouc', an unsophisticated country hick. And she ending it all, referring to him first as shit, or 'merde', but then tacking it back, because he isn’t even worthy of being called shit! So she settled on 'sous-merde'. 

She made her way, past her sister’s seat and towards the grand double doors. They opened with nothing as much of a flick of her wrist, and she closed them behind her in the same way.

Nobody had dared say anything.

Out of the room, she felt like she could breathe again, and even though she was still in a state of rage, she felt light. The two Circes’ in her had twisted and turned until they squeezed out every last drop of fuel she had left. And then the tears came, for Circe van Astor was possibly not invincible or a Goddess that needed worshipping, even if she was named after one. 

The hallway back to the greeting room was quiet, and even the portraits wouldn’t dare look at her strangely. This is what life was about, about control, about that little moment where she controlled the discussion, about how she controlled how they would treat her. She couldn't make out if she was crying tears of joy, of frustration or of sadness, but she settled on a strange combination of the three. 

A hurried padding of familiar tiny feet on the marble brought her back to reality.

“Miss Circe! Miss Circe! Mimi is shouting Miss Circe!” She stopped and turned to see their wide eyed house elf, running as fast as she could towards her. Circe bent down, to not peer at Mimi from above but from an equal level on her knees.

“Hello Mimi,” Her voice was coarse, from the shouting, and the burn of the firewhiskey had not helped it. "You're looking gorgeous, you," She playfully said with a sniff-Mimi was donning a pink tea towel and was wearing a string necklace with two beads, one black and one white. Circe immediately recognised it, as the necklace Josephine and her had gifted their house elf when she was four and Josephine bordering on three. And it made something in her heart hurt. 

“Miss Circe! Mimi is happy to see you! Mimi has gift for you!” Mimi was running faster now and she observed the white cloth knotted around something she was holding. She was certain she was crying more because of Mimi.

_Mimi is happy to see you!_

_“_ I have missed you Mimi,” She sniffed, her nose clearly stuffy.

“Mimi is very happy! Mimi miss Miss Circe! Mimi give to Miss Circe!” Finally, Mimi had arrived and unknotted the cotton cloth to reveal a plate full of none other than her favourite berry tarts.

A loud sob escaped her mouth. She embraced Mimi’s tiny body as well as she could, feeling two small hands pat her head, the way they always did when she needed calming down.

_At least, at least she had Mimi and the berry tarts._

_———-_

It was hard. Everything was so difficult. It would much too hard, to come up with a clever lie to account for her red face, for the tears and the ruined hair and makeup. So she didn’t, she was exhausted and her thoughts were getting a bit too heavy on her mind. She would simply have to deal with the consequences of her thoughts tomorrow. This time, she had to be bothered to care. 

As she stepped out of the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, hoping foolishly it would be empty at ten pm on a Friday, and still carrying the tarts, she was met with five pairs of eyes intently focused on her.

Theo, Pansy, Astoria, Blaise and Draco, were all on the couches, and Gods, were they waiting for her?

Nobody said anything as she sat down next to Pansy and Astoria, and set the ornate plate of berry tarts on the table in front of them.

“Berry tarts, my favorites.” She took off her earrings, placing the heavy emeralds on the table between them, next to the tarts.

Circe hated how they were looking at her. She was ashamed she was with them in such a state, and no matter how hard she tried, her mother’s voice would always ring at the back of her head.

_Remember who you are, Circe van Astor._

All of them save for Draco, he looked amused. The fuel she had earlier, well, she was on her very last drop and she wouldn’t waste it on picking a fight again.

“Does anybody have a cigarette? Or weed?” Blaise was the one to fidget a bit before producing a metal case from his back pocket. He extended it to her and she picked up something rolled in thin white paper.

“Well, which is it?” He mustered a soft smile.

“Do you not know me by now, van Astor?” His tone was playful, and for that she was grateful.It was weed, she just needed it confirmed, before she lit it with the tip of her wand and inhaled. The mellow would soon come.

“So what have you lot been up to?” She regarded Pansy as she spoke, and hoped Pansy would understand her desperate plea to switch the conversation off of her. This time, the attention was not welcome.

“Astoria and I went into town, saw your lover-boy,” She motioned toward Theo. “Theo’s been in the library, quite the fucking nerd if I may say,” He opened his mouth to protest, but Pansy waved him off, pointing at Blaise lazily. “Blaise is a mystery, probably counting stars with Lovegood. And darling Draco, just came back from walking Muriel to her dorm.”

“What have you been up to Circe?” Draco asked, the same grin from before. He was cruel, twisting the knife when she was already bleeding, Pansy looked furious, but the weed had certainly made her feel better so the banter was easier now. Plus, it just amounted to another thing on the list she needed to exact her revenge on him for. 

“Oh you know, nice family dinner. Just been proposed to,” Draco remained oddly quiet, coincidentally, eyeing the fucking berry tarts.

Blaise looked incredulous. “You serious? Timothy actually went through with it?”

“Mhm,” She took another drag.

“And?” She hoped they all seemed to forget about what state she had been in, munching on homemade berry tarts, allowing Blaise’s cheery voice fill the room.

“And what? I am to be married this summer,” Circe kept her face as unreadable as she could muster. All of them, save for the girls, looked stunned.

“Wha—How?”

She let them simmer for a while more, relishing her little comical victory. Clearly, she was a much better actress than Timothy. But the effects of the weed had kicked in, and she doubled over in a raucous laughter.

“You, you, you should have seen your fucking faces! Would you actually believe I would marry? And that little twat of all people?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song is Daredevil by Fionna Apple (the queen)  
> Hope you enjoyed <3


	15. Get fucked Malfoy-sincerely, the fucking nutcase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cedric Diggory is a bit of a little bitch, something fun happens in Potions and we find out more about certain people ;)

_You're no good for me_

_Baby, you're no good for me_

_You're no good for me_

_But baby, I want you, I want_

_Diet mountain dew, baby, New York City_

_Never was there ever a girl so pretty_

_[-]_

The next Monday, the cat was let out of the bag-Cedric Diggory, the charming Hufflepuff captain, was her boyfriend and the news rippled throughboth their houses in a flurry of whispers and curious stares. The Slytherins were shocked and convinced it was a farce, and it was in a way, while the Hufflepuffs were more welcoming and friendly. That was until lunch, when she decided to sit next to her boyfriend.

“Hey pretty boy,” Circe motioned for a blonde girl to make space next to Cedric and the girl almost ran off. Cedric looked stunned to see her.

“Uh, hi, yeah Circe,” She slid into spot with ease and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Something was wrong, she could feel it, the same uneasiness before she had an episode.

Still, she forced herself to put on a smile. The people at the Hufflepuff table were all staring at her as if she were a hippogriff eating lunch with them, Gods, and she thought,they were supposed to be the kind ones. Before she could say anything else, a brunette with a perpetual sneer on her face opened her mouth to speak.

“Shouldn’t you be at your own table?” She said, and Circe allowed herself to look at her. An amateur mean girl, scowl and insipid tone don’t really cut it anymore. If you want to really make your presence known, you have to be subtle and poisonous, not overtly mean. Although people are hurt most when you deem them unimportant, not even meriting response.  Finishing her once-over of the girl, she decided, quite frankly to brush off the comment, hoping Cedric would see her effort. 

Instead, she placed a hand on Cedric’s thigh and squeezed, before leaning to whisper in his ear.

“When are you taking me out again pretty boy?”She watched him blush and cough. Cedric turned to her and began speaking in a hushed tone.

“Can we not do this now?” Was she already failing in her challenge? Was she letting a mediocre at best boy brush her off? 

“I can’t sit with my boyfriend?” Her voice was laden with innocence, feigning a very not-like Circe sweetness. It tasted bitter on her tongue. At least when she was cold and mean, people didn't expect much of her. Just another spoiled brat. 

“What’s wrong, Cedric, are you ashamed your very kind and ‘good’ friends will see you with your Slytherin girlfriend?”

“Circe that’s not fair, that’s not what I mean,” She raised a hand to stop him. 

There was still a way she could salvage the situation, maturity and being overly dramatic. If Cedric would not act like her boyfriend in public, she would make him feel guilty, and soon the Hufflepuff capitain would be eating out of the palm of her hand. There would be nothing, Gods be damned, standing in the way of her getting what she wanted. 

Gods, she truly was an evil bitch sometimes. Just like Draco, a voice at the back of her head nagged. Only Draco probably hadn't planned as ahead as she had. She had anticipated Cedric's shyness and her lack of care to coincide, and had known it would come to her second plan. Manipulation, unfortunately, was not something the tutors her parents hired taught, it was just something she picked up along the way. 

Circe grabbed her book, and gave Cedric one last unflinching look before she stood up.

“No, I understand Cedric, by all means. You can only be my boyfriend in secret,” She even feigned a voice crack, and her eyes glossed over, practice from years of always getting what she wants.

He called her name once, and stopped when she kept walking, crossing the Great Hall. 

Storming off to the Slytherin table, she found Pansy watching her over a glass of pumpkin juice. Theo was next to her, looking positively furious, only looking at the yellow table. There goes the temper, muddled just below the surface. He clenched and unclenched his fist, and she had heard that he and Cedric had some unfinished business, Pansy wouldn't tell her what it was though. 

She said nothing. That was until Theo spoke up.

“Circe,” Her gaze filtered in his direction, watching him as she propped himself on his hands almost leaning over the table to address her.

Gods, this was concern, pure concern—someone was concerned for her. This was strange to say the least. His blue eyes, aquamarine really, had become a few shades darker, and more hooded, and a red flush built up on his neck. 

“I’m walking you to Potions,” With that he stood up, and walked with heavy steps towards the exit of the Great Hall. She was much too shocked to say anything else so she just followed after him. This was a side of Theo that hadn't come out since the Slytherin party, and it was interesting to say the least. 

“Theo, you really didn’t have—,” He interrupted her, right as she caught up with him. It seemed as if now, his long legs seemed longer, when he was walking.

“I did, I do. You’re my friend and I care,” He paused after the word friend, and looked deep in thought for the slightest. A Ravenclaw bumped into him and he shoved the scared boy off with a scoff.

_ He cared.  _

And that was that.

* * *

Theo did not have Potions with her so he hurried to his Arithmancy period. She didn’t apologise for making him late, because frankly it wasn’t her fault. Apologies were a waste of time. For example, if she set someone on fire (no comment on whether that had happened during a drunken stupor, or not) would that person appreciate an elaborate apology, or someone to put the fire out. The answer was easy.

Actions outshone words. 

The three people she knew in Potions were Pansy, Draco and of course, Cedric her partner and boyfriend. And a piss-poor Potions student. She watched him, watched him sit down next to her, twirling his wand in his hand, looking at her with a pleading look in his eyes. It seemed her plan had worked, his eyes shone brightly with guilt. His whole demeanour was downwards, like a wilted flower. 

“Circe,” He whispered over their cauldron as she picked up a fine grey powder and measuring out two heaping pinches. Falling into the black cauldron with a swish, it bubbled up quickly and she pushed him away with a sigh. The Draught they were brewing would have given him some very ugly painful boils if it came in contact with his skin. Cedric, obviously, did not know that.

“Circe, please,” The captain whispered loudly, gathering the attention of her friends that were seated around them. If she could call Draco Malfoy her friend, though Pansy certainly was.

She whipped around, to where she felt someone was watching her. And she was right, because a certain pair of icy eyes were burning holes into her back, ignoring Pansy’s talking. Circe furrowed her eyebrows at him, and he mimicked her mannerism in a much too mocking way.Draco ripped a piece of his parchmentand scratched something on it with his quill. Then, much to her surprise, the folded parchment dropped into her lap, by a simple levitation spell. She quickly looked at Slughorn at the front of the class, who was busy congratulating Harry Potter on his brewing, and then opened the folded up piece of parchment.

_Trouble in paradise?_ His writing was slanted but very meticulous in quick cursive. Still,she shook her head from sideways lightly before penning a response.

_Get fucked Malfoy._ Circe replicated his exact spell, though to her delight the piece of parchment fell in his hair.

Their two partners, Pansy and Cedric, were completely oblivious. Cedric's aloofness was accounted for but Pansy, Pansy was much too clever for her own good, and much too sneaky. She probably spotted them, and decided on questioning her back at their dorm. Gods, she dreaded that. 

Circe watched Draco smirk, look up at her, then pick up his quill for a while longer this time before a new folded parchment arrived in her lap. She gasped, as she was mixing her and Cedric’s potion, and crossed her legs to hide the parchment.

Then, Draco fucking Malfoy, clearly decided to have some fun.

The parchment began violently almost buzzing in between her thighs, moving at a rapid pace. She had to re arrange herself on the stool, to not create cause for concern. The vibrating did not stop, it increased and it crept dangerously close to her panties. She could get up, and the vibrating piece of papers would fall to the ground, but she didn't, she wouldn't.

She took a calming breath, squeezing her legs harder as she rapidly twisted around to glare at Draco. Not one hair was out of place, in fact, he looked completely unbothered, save for his right hand gripping his wand beneath the table. The vibrations were completely in contact with her, with the parts of her they shouldn’t be and just as they increased, so did her short uneven gasps and breaths.

If he wasn’t going to stop, she was—

A moan erupted from somewhere deep within her, and she covered it up with an impromptu cough. It was much too much. Every sense in her body felt on edge, awake with the promise of release, like if she squeezed her legs tighter, she would erupt with her favourite feeling in the world.

Gods, he wasn’t even touching her and he was making her cum at two pm in the middle of a potions class. Draco fucking Malfoy. The nerve. 

She gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white. Cedric looked more than worried next to her and kept asking her if she was fine, what was wrong and so on. It was too easy to ignore him, to brush him off and focus on the familiar pressure that was building up. And Gods, she threw her head back in pure ecstasy, almost falling off of her wooden stool. Her hair tickled her lower back and she focused on that, focused on anything to try and drown out the feeling. 

It was tempting to scream and moan and let it all out in the middle of class, to get Draco to bend her over a table and finish what he started, what they both knew was present. But Circe van Astor was acutely aware of the people looking at her, Hermione Granger in particular who looked both curious and terrified, so she bit her tongue and grasped the table, until….until it just _stopped._

Right when she was at the edge, at the edge of falling over of spilling over into that ocean of pleasure until she drowned. There was no release to ride out now. Diabolical was one way to put it, evil, vile, and a small part of her, subconsciously enjoyed it even more—the chase rather than the prize. Still, it angered her beyond normal levels. Now, frustrated, flushed and disappointed, she shot her hand up, and called out for Proffesor Slughorn to get his attention, which was difficult.

“Professor, may I be excused to go to the bathroom please?” The old man nodded and brushed her off. So she stood, not even bothering to open the charmed parchment before incinerating it. She found the familiar girl’s bathroom and shut the door closed to her stall before casting a half-assed silencing _Muffliato_ charm. Circe erupted into the flurry of curses and moans she had abstained from, grateful the bathroom was empty despite the charm. One hand down her skirt, and the other, plastered on the wall for support, she exploded, touching herself just how she liked it. 

If Draco Malfoy wasn’t going to finish her off, she would herself.

* * *

Being late to her next class caused a ten point deduction from Slytherin courtesy of the van Astor heir, and after what was a very exhausting day, the walk back to their dorms was a chore. Pansy’s meddling nature did not make it any better. When back in Potions she knew Pansy would be on her with questions, now it had become reality. Their black robes fluttered behind them, Circe's because she was trying to walk faster than Pansy to avoid her-her height proving an advantage, and Pansy's because she was struggling to pick up. 

“You still haven’t answered my question Circe,” They rounded a corner and Pansy shot a hex at a girl who was walking at a snails’s pace in front of them. As one does, she thought ironically. Circe yawned. Pansy snickered as the girl tripped, not bothering to check on her as they simply walked around her. 

“That is because you did not ask a question,” She retorted, feeling very much a Slytherin. 

“I said I saw what happened today in potions,”

“And I offered you congratulations for not only a fully functioning pair of eyes, but also on your very keen observational skills," She tossed her hair behind her shoulder, chucking her wand in her thigh garter as she did. "Pansy, love, I thought English was your first language. Do you really need a poor French-woman to remind you of the basic rules of grammar?” 

"Aren't you only half-French?"

"Yes, Miss Panci, I am only half-français, but it iz enouf! French blood iz thicker than ze anglais!" She stopped, and began what would be a grand gesture. "You see Mizz Panci, my maman is from across ze pond, my papa is a briton," She was relentless in the exaggerated French accent, making Pansy red in the face with trying to stifle a laugh. The short-haired girl would lose her reputation as a bully, if Gods forbid, she would laugh in front of everyone. 

" Ha ha, very funny Circe. " She re-arranged her green headband, but Circe swore it was just an excuse to laugh with her hair covering her. "Fine, have it your way.” They passed the Astronomy Tower and she thought of Draco almost immediately. And Draco's hands. And Draco's eyes and his lips. “I shall rephrase, what happened in potions today?”

“Oh, well if you put it that way Miss Parkinson,” She sarcastically began, and Pansy loudly groaned. “I ignored Cedric, he almost messed up our potion and I got the most ridiculous stain on my robe, really you must see—,” Circe pulled her robe, showing her the large red stain on her sleeve.

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” The corner of Pansy mouth rounded at the corner, as she glanced at her friend sideways.

“Oh well, then I haven't the faintest clue”

“Your little game with Draco,I saw you passing notes, what was it a dare? To moan like that?” Her suspicions had been correct. 

“Pansy, I- , what moaning? I had a coughing fit,” It was certainly not a dare and it was definitely not a coughing fit. It was an intrusion, a challenge, a game of cat and mouse, only this time she was the mouse. Plotting revenge was already on her mind since she came at the behest of her own fingers in that bathroom stall, getting back at him was perhaps what made her so eager.

Though Pansy did not have to know that, so she continued on with her naive clueless act.

“You were gripping the table and shaking!”

“ Fine! A very aggressive coughing fit! I do not know why you are not more concerned Pansy, I’ll have you know respiratory issues are a common health concern for us van Astors,” Pansy prodded on, not convinced yet.

“Oh yeah, why? Too many cigarettes?” Circe fought back a grin, keeping a serious face. 

“A curse, a generational curse,” She spoke lower, and lost the energy in her voice, so the lie fell perfectly off of her tongue and seamless enough for a conniving girl like Pansy to believe. "Alfred Frederick Arthur van Astor the sixth angered a very, very powerful witch back in 1794, triggering a curse, to be placed on the next 100 generations, for very fragile lungs. " There was no Alfred in her family tree, and there certainly was no curse. 

“Oh, okay, I believe you for now,” Lying was easy, and it was a small lie to get her dorm mate off her back, and if you are expecting a great display of regret from Circe van Astor, you will not get one. The language of lies was the sixth one she spoke.

Circe quickly shifted the topic of the conversation to one Pansy seemed to be able to talk about for hours.

“How are you and Astoria?” She watched Pansy’s face light up and she wondered if she would ever light up that way about someone. Thinking of her current boyfriend did not merit the same reaction.

“I think I love her, like really love her. I haven’t told her yet.”

“ Aww, Pansy…youre getting soft on me! I swear I'm you girls' biggest supporter. How did all this happen?” She exclaimed and slung an arm around the shorter girl’s shoulder. Pansy sighed dreamily. The people around them parted, and no one was in their immediate vicinity regardless. 

“I realised three years ago that I just couldn’t see myself with a man in any situation. And Astoria, well, Astoria’s always been my friend, our families are friends, what Im trying to say is that we grew up around each other. I love her, I always did,” Pansy smiled nostalgically and the two Slytherins continued to walk in tandem. “ But I realised that I’m in love with her, and it terrified me, on multiple planes, so I supressed it as much as I could. And for a while, I did something which must have hurt her so much,”

“Don’t tell me you cheated on her?”

“No, Gods, no. I would never. In the first few months of us dating I was like one of those hourglasses with sand in it. We would be amazing and have this amazing time together and then it’s like time had run out and I went back to hating myself, hating who I truly was,” Circe was intrigued to say the least, the two seemed made for each other.

“And what changed?”

“Youre so impatient I swear, let me finish my sentence—,”

“Fine, go on then,”

“You just interrupted me again!” She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “And I realised I was an idiot. That I was hating a part of me, I wasn’t being truthful to myself, and I wasn’t being fair to her.”

“I thought Astoria would have hexed you senseless into understanding.”

“Pff, she’s far too proper. A subtle potion, now that I could believe,” They shared a laugh, Astoria was in fact very proper. She shared a room with Pansy and they had maybe kissed two times in front of her, at most. 

Circe watched all the students pass around them, mesmerised by the fact she was seeing some people for the first time. Hogwarts accepted students from all over in Britain, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. For example, Astoria’s family had generations of Scottish magic ancestry while Pansy's father had grown up in Cardiff, not in the grand London his daughter had.

Hermione smiled at her as she passed in the opposite direction, accompanied by a tall ginger, and a shorter boy with glasses. Circe didn't really smile back, but she didn't scowl. As they passed, she heard the redhead mutter something, and she wished she had scowled, or spat at them.

"Fucking nutcase that one 'Mione, dunno why you want to be friends with her," She didn't hear the wild-haired girl's response. If Pansy were to hear what he said, her defensive habits would be on him within seconds, but Pansy hadn't heard, and she was tired. An idea struck her. 

"Hermione!" She shouted, earning a disgusted look from Pansy, and making the trio stop a few paces away from her. Hermione's face was painted with guilt as she looked at her. "Your hair looks really pretty today, and you must tell me where you got that necklace from!" Genuinely, she grinned at her, while looking the redhead up and down with amusement. Better a nutcase than an oaf, she at least looked like she showered, or owned a hairbrush. Her eyes passed over the boy with glasses, Harry Potter, she knew him from potions, but betrayed no reaction to him.

"Thank you Circe," She averted her eyes, and Circe dropped Pansy's arm to approach the three Gryffindors. "It's an old family trinket," 

"Hmm," She hummed, offering her right hand, her right hand where she sported her ring with the big family crest carved in silver, to the ginger. "I don't think we've met, I'm Circe van Astor..." He looked at her hand, and she watched him, her politeness slowly melting away to the real van Astor. The one that liked being called a bitch. 

Hermione gasped next to him, shoving him hard-he had not taken her hand. Circe held his stare, determined for an unknown reason. His blue eyes bore into hers, with a very real intensity, and she almost yawned. He was nothing next to her mother, this was child's play. 

"Let's go Circe," She heard Pansy say from behind her, her tone knitted with a obvious revulsion. 

"Circe van Astor, the fucking crazy nutcase," Wicked, that's what her tone, her demeanour could be described as, wicked and provoking. "And when a Lady offers you her hand, its is common practice to shake it, not gawk at it, no matter the tough act you're trying to put up," She flexed her hand, noticing a chip in her black nail polish. "And I'll let you in on a little secret, ginger, I was trying to be nice, not for you, but for Hermione here, because she has treated me with nothing but kindness since I arrived. But I see now it was a waste, says a lot for hypocrisy- I thought all the mean ones were in Slytherin," 

"I don't shake hands with people like you,"

"Ronald Billius Weasley!" Hermione shouted from next to him, even Harry Potter looked shocked.

From next to her Pansy drew her wand, and had it pointed right at him. Circe didn't need one, plus, Slytherins take care of their own. She pitied Ronald when Theo and Blaise heard about this little incident. 

"Oh no, whatever shall I do!" She retorted, Pansy eyes her sideways. They probably though Pansy was bluffing, that she wouldn't actually hex the boy, but she had seen her do more for less, and she truly didn't care. Her father had enough leverage to get her out of all messes. "Let's go Pansy, he's certainly not worth it," It took Pansy a good thirty seconds to lower her wand, not before shooting another ruthless glance at the ginger boy. 

"See you around Hermione, do try to train your animal over there," She quipped, not being able to help herself, over her shoulder as the Slytherins made their way down the corridor and to the dungeons.

* * *

It was Circe who said the password to the common room, which had just been changed to _Semper fidelis_ , always faithful. The hidden door appeared, and she pushed on it, revealing the familiar glow of the common room. She turned to step into their common room where she already recognised Blaise’s boisterous laugh.It energised her, and she was ready to curl up on the couches, with a mug of tea, the added splash of Japanese fire whiskey courtesy of her. Something was wrong with the boys of Hogwarts today, first Cedric, then Hermione's friend. If she wished, she could enact a diabolical plan at least, to teach the redhead a lesson about the people he does not shake hands with. But other details preoccupied her mind, like the dreadful silence from her family-not one angry or passive-aggressive letter, even Josephine hadn't written back. Her birthday was on the way, a month or so away, and although it was not as important as the seventeenth when she officially earned her last name, it would still be fun to go all out. Yes, she would have to think of something, before Pansy planned another party with half the school. 

Pansy had not been easy to calm down, in fact it took Circe to promise he wouldn't get away with treating her that way, for Pansy to promise she wouldn't tell the boys. Of course, she would've loved to see the boy bloodied black and blue, at the hands of a raging Theo, but that was exactly why she didn't want them to know. They would get in trouble, lots of it, and not the good kind, the kind where Slytherins don't have the upper hand. Theo had had four detentions in one week, and she couldn't bear to be the one to add to that. However, if the moment arose again, and if she were accompanied by Theo and not Pansy, well, she _wouldn't not_ tell him to do it, and if he did, _who would she be to stop Theodore Nott from a good fight?_

The boys had clearly changed out of their robes and were in now more casual wear, though casual wear for high society Slytherins did not mean the same for everyone. For example, Blaise was sporting a black cashmere turtleneck and amazing black striped pants she wanted to steal. Theo was wearing a formal shirt, though it was open, and it strained around his shoulders, she could just about make out a thin chain hanging around his neck. There were no hoodies or stained shirts with moth holes in sight. 

She wouldn’t even look at Draco.

“Ladies,” Blaise nodded to both of them. “How are we this fine Friday evening?” He patted the space on the couch next to him and she sat down with a sigh.

“Tired,” Circe said, discarding her black and green robe on the couch and rubbing at her temples. She undid her tie and a few buttons of her shirt as well in the process, to feel more comfortable. 

“Alright," The short haired girl looked around the common room. "Have any of you seen Astoria?” Pansy continued.

“She came through a while ago, said she’s going to the library. She also said to tell you, that you promised to help her with something,” Theo spoke up from his spot across her, oblivious.

Circe saw Pansy’s face light up with joy, and she was the only one who understood the reason why. Blowing a kiss to him, which Theo pretended to catch of course, she was out the door instantly, almost running. Though she wouldn't tell the boys, Astoria would definitely find out. She expected a talk with the two of them later.

Blaise, began discussing the day’s events, with a focus on Quidditch practice where apparently a fight broke out. It made her smile-she had just avoided a fight, yet here were her housemates in the middle of one. 

“We had the field booked for today at four, it was all fair, and the Potter sauntered in with the Weasley girl and made a fuss,” Blaise reached for his porcelain tea cup, pointing his wand at it, and muttering a warming charm before continuing. “Said Gryffindor has the pitch booked for an hour, and of course they involved teachers. McGonnagal came, and she said to Flint who was going mad, mad I tell you, that, and I quote ‘you shall split the pitch in two and commence your practice, I won't have anymore nonsense Mr.Flint,’” He mimicked her voice and of course her distinctive Scottish accent.

“What did Marcus do?”

“After McGonnagal left he jinxed Potter’s hair green, but he’s fucking daft and the charm backfired, making his hair green as well.” Circe snickered, hoping she would get to see their Captain sporting Slytherin green locks. She hadn’t forgotten his comments, he deserved more than green hair for a new hours.

“He’s that proud of his house?” Blaise looked like he was close to bursting at the seams as he gestured with his hands while speaking.

“No, because,” He paused, laughter already slurring his words. “It wasn’t even our green, it, it was ,” A loud laugh, and Circe soon joined in, unable to stop herself. He was one of those people whose laugh was more hilarious than anything he could be saying. “It was none green, bright bright ugly green, almost yellow!”

The three of them continued their laughter, and even Draco joined in. She had forgotten he was even there. That was a lie she convinced herself of.

“She’s always been more lenient to people of her house don’t you think?” Theo mused.

“All of them protect Gryffindors, they are their proud lions while we are the evil little snakes,” Draco was the one to speak now, tone laced with a dangerous sentiment. “The differences between us and them,” He gestured to the four of them. “is that we don’t need protecting.”

That was certainly true.

They all agreed to some extent. She observed it but said nothing. One of the Gryffindors was late to Transfiguration the other day, and instead of receiving a deduction in house points he got off with just a warning. Last time she was a minute late to Transfiguration, McGonnagal took fifteen points of from Slytherin.

But she could take it, could take it all, because McGonnagal had also been the one to help her with the ballet society. And Circe was going to dance, and nothing else really mattered. 

It truly was perplexing.

Not wanting to talk more about that topic, as it probably was a sore spot for them all (Theo had detention at least once a week this month only) Blaise began reiterating what he and Theo did in Italy that summer. The story involved not one but four Italian muggle girls and two bicycles. She knew what a bicycle was but she did now know how one could possible want to ride one. It seemed wobbly and foolish.

* * *

An hour or two must have passed, and Theo and Draco were currently debating an obscure History of Magic fact that they seemed to both be very opinionated in. She relished in their discussion and found herself leaning her head on Blaise’s shoulder and just observing them all. Blaise was warm, always warm, making him the best person to sit next to in their always somehow cold common room. 

Theo gestured with his hands a lot, and he was more passionate when speaking, and he seemed to be getting taller, like everything in him worked to wards proving himself right. He shot her a sly wink when he realised he was watching her. Across from him, glass in hand, Draco was decisively more collected in his arguing, like if he showed any emotion it would mean he lost. She blamed his childhood, the society both of them had grown up in, for that impenetrable, emotionless gaze. It was a shame, he probably looked better when he wasn't scowling. 

When Draco made a particularly bold claim, Theo stormed to their dorm and returned seconds later with a book, shaking his head as he opened it in his lap, eyes rapidly skimming. 

"Here!" He stretched the book out on the coffee table in between them, long finger pointing to something almost invisible. "I told you the Winter Riots took place in 1892, not in 1899," He sat down with a pleased look on his face. Before Draco could respond in that very annoyed way of his, a knock resounded at the door. Theo got up to see who it was, clearly not any of their housemates, they would enter with the password. Her and Blaise turned to watch Theo with curiosity, and when he finally opened the door, her face fell.

That wretched yellow scarf was what she saw first. Cedric Diggory was standing at their door, holding a bouquet of purple flowers and a box. She fell back into the couch, not wanting the confrontation.

Then she remembered who opened the door.

“Wrong fucking common room mate,” Theo almost slammed the door shut when Cedric wedged a foot and began speaking in a pleading tone.

“Listen, I’m not here to cause any trouble,” He swallowed and she realised why. Theo looked positively furious, like he was trying to hold back his temper. His dislike for Cedric was no secret, but it seemed to be accentuated now. “Just want to talk to _my_ girlfriend,”

And the snake came out.

“Who is this girlfriend you speak of? The one you embarrassed today at lunch?" He paused, and she saw him take off his family ring, moving it to his right hand, and she realised, that a punch from that hand would be agonising. "You fucking twat, you’re lucky I don’t bash your head in.” Theo glanced at her, and she said nothing, unsure what to do. If she shook her head, Theo would take care of it, make sure Cedric left, possibly with a black eye—but that would harm her progress in the challenge. If she said yes, would she be giving in too easily?

No, let him fight for her if he wished to. She was not easy.

Circe opened her eyes, after she closed them for a split second and subtly shook her head sideways. Theo received the message, blue eyes now alive with anger. The infamous Nott temper had joined them for the second time that day. 

“Please, Theo, mate,” Cedric tried peering in, but was met with Theo’s broad chest blocking the door. “Circe!Circe! Circe, baby! Please talk to me!”

Blaise shifted uncomfortably from beside her, and looked at her with frivolity. Cedric was his friend, but Cedric was also her boyfriend and he had embarrassed her, humiliated her. It's not like he was going to die, perhaps get his ego bruised a bit but she was a firm believer that all men needed that.

“It’s Theodore to you, _mate_. Now, Circe is not here, and even if she were, she wouldn’t want to talk to you, Diggory,” Theo’s hold on the door tightened and he pushed it. “So get the fuck out of here,before I bash your head in,” Theo's right hand rested on the door, the clenched wrist almost as a warning. 

_“Welcome home Circe. You're officially family now, and we take care of our own here.”_ What Pansy said to her on the first day came back to her in that moment. All of it was true. 

And with that the door was slammed in his face. Theo sat back down with a very pleased grin on his face and proceeded to roll his sleeves up his forearms. Draco was the first to say something.

“Quite the lover-boy you’ve got yourself there,”

“Mhm,” She took a sip from her cup, the tea had gotten cold.

“Don’t you think that was a bit much Theo?” Blaise, asked Theo, then fiddled with a cushion as they all awaited Theo’s answer.

“No,” Theo, skin flushed and eyes still dark, now addressed Circe, and his whole demeanour seemed to change. “Was that too much, love?” Gods, Theo, gods. He knew exactly what he was doing.

For a brief second, and truly it was brief before her thoughts became overwhelmed with something else, she pictured Theo saying that to her, with his hands around her throat, or tangled in between sheets with him, panting and sweating.

“He deserved it. Acted like a total cunt today,” She stopped looking at Theo in his anger, and turned to Blaise crossing her legs under her. “You should have seen him today, completely made a fool of me. No one treats me that way.”

_No one._

* * *

Pansy and Astoria burst through the door, giggling and holding a very familiar box. Astoria was carrying a pile of books, while Pansy wiggled the box suggestively. She recognised it immediately.

“Circe why is your boyfriend asleep at the door?” Pansy perched on the arm of the couch and handed her the box which Cedric was holding earlier. It was cold to the touch and she opened it to find chocolate covered strawberries.

She softened at the edges, remembering she had told him of her affinity for the sweet fruit on their first date.

“What?” It was Astoria who spoke up, while she picked a piece of lint from Pansy’s shoulder, a gesture so intimate, so private she suddenly felt taken aback by how much the two girls were at ease with each other. Pansy, usually the outspoken bully softened at the edges for the diplomatic Astoria, looked at her with nothing but pure adoration. 

“It’s true, go look for yourself,” Blaise moved to stand up with her but she motioned him to let her go alone. She was lucky Theo had gone to the bathroom.

The big clock on the mantelpiece read nine pm. Gods. She made her way to the door, gently opening it and seeing Cedric immediately. He was on the floor, leaning against the wall, mouth opened just a bit, soft snores coming out. The purple flowers he was holding were right next to him, placed in a stasis charm to not get ruined.

Gods, breaking his heart would suck.

Circe sat on her knees next to him, grateful for the socks she was wearing, and made sure the door was closed. Lifting a hand, she hesitated for a bit, hesitated to disturb his peace, hesitated everything. Like a breath she was didn’t want to take, because here was this boy, who was sleeping on a cold stone floor just for a possibility to apologise to her. There was no going back from all of this, and deep down she didn’t want to ruin his life, to enter his life as the utter storm she is, never leaving anything undisturbed behind her.

But then she remembered _him_. And how she was fourteen and how she would never be the same after _that_. All boys were the same, if she wasn’t willing to hurt someone to protect herself, then she would get hurt again.

Was this really protecting herself?

Her mind answered that question with the moment she dreaded reliving. Her muffled shouts, the knife, her collapsing after, no one being there to help. She only had herself in that moment. She only had herself to protect and she had failed, and she never would again. Circe blinked away a tear, and decided that if she committed to something she would go through with it. She accepted Draco’s challenge, collateral damage was inevitable.

She lifted the hand she dropped and cupped his cheek, running her thumb across it. His eyes shot open and he placed his hand over hers.

“I truly am sorry,” Cedric sighed and leaned into her hand. “I wasn’t ashamed of you, you deserve to know that. I was just, just scared I guess.”

“I know,” Her voice was loaded with many things he didn’t hear and could never.

“Let me make this right, I know I can, Circe,” She stared him right into the eyes, and it was small but a strong flicker in his eyes, and she knew her strategy had suceeded. “Please,”

“I shouldn’t,” He groaned and grasped her hand turned to kiss her knuckles. “I shouldn’t but,” Their hands were entwined now and he was searching, searching for something in her, a clue, something, anything. “But I want to,”

Cedric Diggory exclaimed loudly with joy and connected their lips, she fell back onto the floor, but he cradled her head in his hands. He kissed her whole face, soft small pecks, and she couldn’t not laugh with glee.

“Cedric,” Another laugh when he kissed her eyelid. “I do have conditions,” He stopped.

“Of course,” He was still on top of her, and she smiled at him, running a hand through russet locks. "Anything for you," 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3  
> Song is Diet Mountain Dew by Lana del Rey


	16. Think of me tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Circe returns a favour ;) and gets some news regarding the ballet society-a fun Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> light smut in this chapter, consider this a warning  
> also TW// unhealthy coping habits, ED like behaviour, mention of assault

_Ten years old without a voice_

_I feel like nothing’s really changed_

_Now I’m just a little older_

_Underneath it all_

_I know it’s not your fault_

_That you don’t understand_

_I blame myself_

_[-]_

"This is so frustrating. I hate everyone and everything," Circe huffed out as she sat down at the breakfast table, Theo being her sole companion.

Her letters and orders she placed for the bare minimum of ballet supplies, had been delayed once more. It was a bit premature, to begin ordering barre bars, a grand record player and records of classical composers, when she hadn't heard from McGonnagal with information about a room yet, but it was hopeful of her. Between the pile of letters, a thick white one she had not even moved to open yet, the wax seal remaining unbroken stood out. She knew who it was from, hence why she stuck it in the same pile with all the common letters, to teach it a lesson. Circe brought the letters to breakfast at Theo's request and insistence, that she could open them in the Great Hall, keeping him company. Theo placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of her as he piled his plate.

"Everyone?" And in that moment she looked at him, from above her notes as he looked at her too, with a cheeky twinkle in his eyes.

"No, not everyone," She relented and he smiled in that very Theo way. Hooking her finger in a corner, she ripped another envelope, 

The letterfrom her father came at Saturday at dinner, tied to the leg of a grand black owl she recognized from her family home. It determinedly landed in front of her on the table, snagged a sausage from a plate and flew off. She expected letters, from her mother most likely, but the pristine envelope and golden stitching was unmistakably her father’s. 

She guessed the contents-a list of responsibilities, of things that were expected of her, because that was the only time Oscar van Astor wrote. Still, an ominous feeling settled in the pit of her stomach, as she could pretend to not be affected by them all, but deep down, she knew she was, and she probably always would be. 

Theo nudged her while munching on a thick piece of toast, and raised his eyebrows in question. Circe took a second, to admire the way his hair shone in the early Sunday morning sun, and the way he always made sure she had a cup of coffee in front of her, before he would begin eating. Did he do that for everyone? Take care of them like that, with a practiced subtlety. 

“My father,” She raised the thick envelope, and he nodded thoughtfully.

And it began, the slow bubbleing over, the growing feeling at the back of her head, the itch she couldn’t scratch. The unmistakeable sentiment, and the chaos in her mind that ensured.

_No._

_Not now._

“You in trouble?” He grinned from above a tea cup, and a small flash of something fluttered deep in her. She liked seeing him smile, it was much better than the scowl anyone outside of Slytherin got. Still, the thoughts, like black shadows burst through the barricade and poisoned her mind in their scheduled torture. The last attack she had had was when she was writing an essay for Flitwick in the library, and had to run out to calm herself. 

“I always am in trouble,” She managed, though in a very quiet feeble tone. A million thoughts ran through her head at once. About her father, her parents, Skeeter’s newest article, and they all culminated, into that horrendous picture of her almost bleeding to death in a back alley of a filthy London street.

“What is it now?” He asked, and began listing numerous things that would get her in trouble, on any given day, but stopped once he saw how she seemed to retreat into herself, into her thoughts.“You alright love?” Theo wrapped a strong protective arm around her shoulder, and peered down at her. She seemed smaller somehow, how hadn’t he noticed? It was almost like she had not even registered his question. 

She abruptly got up, pulling away from him in the process, and he said something, getting up as well but she hadn’t processed it, hadn’t heard him. The pancake she had nibbled on felt like deadweight in her stomach, heavy and painful, as if it was eroding holes into her. 

“Love, hey, Circe,” Theo took her hand and squeezed it lightly, because she looked like she might break. It had happened instantly, the intense stare became empty, like all the color had drained behind her eyes. She turned around and he followed, dropping everything to follow her. Like he did, _like he always would,_ future Circe begged to add. 

“No, let go,” Circe almost screamed, because she wasn’t looking at Theo, holding on to her wrist lightly, she was looking at _him_. “No! Let me go!” Theo recoiled and dropped her hand in fear, and she broke into a sprint, out of the Great Hall, away from everything, in search of the nearest bathroom.

_He_ was there, that wasn't Theo, it was _him_ , and he was going to kill her this time, finish what he started, and she would bleed out more now, alone with no one but herself to help her. But this time, she couldn't even help herself. 

No, that was Theodore Nott, who makes you smile and flirts with you.

That was Theo who calls you love.

That was Theo who is mean, Theo who hates everyone but his closest friends. And you.

That was Theo.

That was Theo.

That was Theo.

It was not _him_. 

And then it all blurred together, fuzzy clouds she could scarcely identify between, what was true, and what was false.

Her feet pattered on the stone floors and she almost flew into the first girls bathroom she found. There was only a girl inside, one of Pansy’s Ravenclaw friends with the dyed hair, and she was talking, to her, she realised soon after. She laid a hand on her shoulder and Circe flinched so violently back that her back met the stone wall.

“Out.” She held a composed face, as she pointed to the door. “Leave. I don’t care, just get the fuck out,” The girl’s eyes widened, and she gathered her books and ran out, not looking back. And after she managed a _colloportus_ charm, she collapsed, like a porcelain doll breaking in a thousand little pieces, down on the hard floor. But this time there was no Hermione or Pansy to pity her, and to help stick her back, there was only her, and the insidious thoughts.

For people like her, that smidge of bravery, inflamed by anger from her Friday dinner, the ‘courage’ to stand up to her parent’s once more, well, it did not present itself everyday in her body.

A loud, almost painful sob racked through her body, making her shake in defeat—this, this is where stupid bravery got her. She couldn’t hold it in anymore, so Circe crawled, scraping her knees on the stone, until she found the toilet, pouring over it and vomiting in rounds.

Four times.

Now she felt weightless once more, the fears had not stopped but the dread had diminished. She could have spent an hour hugging her knees to her chest, until the shaking stopped, or she could have spent four. It didn’t matter, all that mattered now was to asses the damage she had done in the mirror.

Her hair was slightly messed up, but then again, it always was, and her eyes were still quite red, long lashes shiny from the tears. Secretly, this, in a state like this, where destruction ravaged her, was when she found herself the most beautiful. She used her wand to fix the scrapes on her knees and pulled her socks back up, repairing the holes in the black tights as well. After cleansing her mouth with water and a mint producing charm, she was finally confident enough to leave the bathroom, and to deal with the aftermath, to talk to Theo. To finish opening the correspondence, to open the letter from her father.

Gods, Theo must think her insane now.

She unlocked the door, and stepped out into the hallway, admiring the soft glow the beginning of autumn’s effect on the Sun.

And it was almost fine, she was content, she was breathing normally, it was all okay until she saw the familiar head of blonde hair and artistocratic features, and her state of fragile content turned to a red hot anger.

He was just ahead of her, walking in the same direction, clearly not spotting her. She picked up her pace, dropping into a run, anger her only fuel now. Draco Malfoy also had too much audacity, much too much audacity and it pissed her off. The stint he pulled in Potions, almost making her combust then and there for all to see, _without laying a hand on her_ , made her run faster.

Draco had turned around by now, and was watching her with a bemused look on his pretty face. Gods, how she wanted to wipe that smirk clean off her face, hex him into a frog or a slug.

“You!” That wasn’t all she managed to spit out as she arrived before him, pushing his shoulder hard. “You…pretentious cunt!” She pushed at him again, and this time he stumbled back.

“Hello to you too Circe, how are you this—,” Circe scoffed loudly in frustration, eyes clouded with anger. She wasn’t sure why she was more angry, by what he did, or by the fact that he hadn’t made her finish.

He stumbled back again, at the full force of her palm against his shoulder.

“Don’t ‘Hello Circe’ me, you twat!” She raised her voice now, to a shrill shout, adamant to make him angry, to make him do something, to get a reaction, to get a rise out of him. “You have some fucking nerve Draco Malfoy,” The smug smirk was replaced by his usual cold expression.

She advanced once more, pushing at him, determined to find his breaking point. Hers was always such a mess to pinpoint, so she made a habit of identifying others. You may think it cruel or weird, to Circe it was resourceful.

“Will you lower your tone? You’re being insufferable,”

“Oh fuck you, if I am insufferable then you are an intolerable, unbearable, unendurable, shit faced cunt,” He raised an eyebrow at her, still impassive. Oh, Gods, what ever did he have to be so pretty for ?

“You’ve got quite the filthy mouth, Miss van Astor,”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” She sneered back at him. A young student, dressed in casual clothes, passed them, noticing the argument, or the one-sided screaming match. She bared her teeth almost in a snarl, and the child ran off.

“How’s your little boyfriend Circe?” That was it.

Circe took his hand, roughly, and pulled him into the empty classroom they were arguing by. Quickly she shut the door, and pushed him against it, just how he had that faithful night after the Slytherin party. She watched him breathe, and then studied his face, and when he made, almost made a motion to begin to move, she pushed him back, palm flat against his chest. Platinum hair had fallen forward into his face and he watching her, urging her on with his eyes. 

Lifting her palm from his chest, it was her turn to make that smug face he sported moments before, and she began tracing his lips, with the tip of her finger, engraving them into her memory. And she quite enjoyed it, it gave her an indescribable thrill to see his eyes flutter, to see him crumbleunder her touch. She had flipped the narrative. 

The other hand traveled upwards to his soft hair, and tugged at the roots, harshly, eliciting a change in his breathing, it was much more rapid, coming out in uneven pants. He hadn’t tried anything, keeping his hands to himself.

_Good. _

But she could read itin his eyes, the desire, the desperation, the need to be touched. Touched properly.

In a sudden movement , she pulled him tight against her, and she knew, she knew he could feel all of her through her thin dress. And she could feel him too, growing beneath her minimal touch. Was this the effect he had on her too?

His molten iron eyes shut, as she craned his neck with the hand from his hair, nipping tentatively at the sensitive skin once. He could push her back, at any time, and fuck herher roughly from behind against any of the desks in the classroom and she maybe would have let him, but, he didn’t.

And she knew exactly why. That didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.

No, old Circe would have let him, would have seen her body as less than a person, not caring about anything and anyone, most especially herself. It had been a coping habit for old Circe, a grand 'fuck you' to the universe, to prove she still owned her body, to prove she could still control it. But in the end, that freakish time after her attack, had left her shattered in more pieces, disoriented with what was real, with what emotions were real, and which were fake. Not only had it made sex seem like a transaction, a moment where she could retrieve validation, contentment, but it had stopped being special like you read about in books or hear stories from older girls. So she vowed, the next time, she would ever allow a man that far, it would mean something.

Nobody had been special enough to cross that final threshold in what seemed like an eternity. 

Circe, the heir, had become more calculated, pushing away her hurt until for a bit it wouldn't exist. Then repeated the process the next day and so on. 

She fanned her breath, warm and minty, over where she had previously nipped, and watched the goosebumps form. At once, she moulded herself closer into him, feeling _all of him._

_“_ How’s your little girlfriend Draco?” She pushed him deeper into the door, and he let out a deep groan. “Does Muriel make you hard like this, hmm? Will she be there to suck you off when I leave?”

His gaze was stern now, harder and more collected, but before he could respond, Circe grabbed the collar of his black shirt, and walked him backwards, to lay flat on the closest desk next to them. Angel hair disheveled, guarded grey eyes looking up at her with perhaps pure hatred, or pure lust, though any would do, she couldn’t abstain from the comment she was going to repeat back at him.Her hand settled on his navel, so close but yet so far to where it was clear he needed her to touch him. She cupped his face, aggressively jerking it to look at her, at her directly above him, hoping he would internalise this one image. She was the one in control now.

“Look at you,” She trailed a finger up and down his torso, long nail digging in. His hair surrounded his head on the table, like a painting, and he looked unnerving. “A little boy desperate for some control in his life,” Retracting her hand, she couldn’t help but continue. “I see you, just like you see me.”

His head hit the table, he had given up on looking at her, and his hand moved down his body, to attempt to touch himself. Circe caught it just in time, wrapping her hand tightly around his, nails digging into his pale skin, little harder and she would have spilled blood.

She leaned down, to whisper in his ear. “Think of me tonight when you fuck her,”

And with that she left him, sprawled on the desk of an empty classroom, panting, frustrated and unravelled—a pretty little mess, just from her touch.

* * *

It turns out, her little interaction with Draco had not affected just him. Thus explaining the rapid, determined walk of the van Astor heir in the direction of the kitchens, where the Hufflepuff dorms were located nearby. Cedric had explained the complex system of devices that barred the entrance to their room from intruders, and non-Hufflepuffs. She found the small gateway in a shadowy stone recess on the right hand side of the corridor, where it was surprisingly a pile of barrels. If tapped correctly, the barrels would reveal the door, if tapped incorrectly she would be drenched in vinegar. 

Leave it to the Hufflepuffs to create the most gentle repelling device ever. If this was Slytherin, they would probably drenched in permanent ink, or have knives thrown at them or even have an charmed cage fall on the intruder. She should mention her suggestions to the prefect. 

Before she could get ahead of herself more, she tried remembering the pattern Cedric has demonstrated in front of her, probably without wanting to do so. Still just as a precautionary measure, she drew a flexible shield around her-a modified Protego charm, where her hand had just enough space to pass through. 

All this work just to see Cedric, Gods. 

And just as she finished the rhythm tapping, a round wooden door appeared from behind the barrels. Very, very frustrated and exasperated, she pounded on the door with her fist and kept pounding until the door swung open. It revealed a short blonde with a cheery smiled plastered on her face, that dwindled a bit when she realised who was at the door. 

“Hiya, can I help you?” She thought back to just a while back when their whole table shunned her, and did not welcome her, and the irony of it, but here was this girl, acting completely civil. That didn’t mean she had to.

“I’m here for Cedric,” The small blonde shifted from one foot onto the other, mulling over what she said for so long, Circe wondered if she had not spoken at all, or if she was hard of hearing. That was until the blonde swung the door open, moving sideways. Circe had not moved an inch, save for dropping the defensive charm. 

“I’ll go get him for you, you can come in if you want.” Circe looked at her incredulously, was she really allowing a filthy little snake into their pristine room? She shook her head. An earthy smell combined with some sort of flowers emanated from the room, but she couldn't see much except the long hallway that seemed to lead somewhere. 

“Tell him I’m waiting for him out here,” Her tone was set, and ice cold. This was the bitch they all spoke of her as, let them see. The girl froze, before realising Circe was not following her in. She nodded softly before shutting the door once more. Only this time, it did not dissapear-she had broken through their first line of defence, and she could certainly do it again. 

After what she estimated to be five minutes, in which she debated leaving eight times, but the thought of Draco, of their competition stopped her, kept her there. She needed a win today. And maybe Cedric could take her over the edge. Wrapping her arms around herself, pulling on her sleeves, she paced once more up and down the hallway, and before she could finally leave, tired of waiting the round door almost collapsed as Cedric aggressively stumbled out. 

His hair was wet, and his clothes were so mismatched it was as if he choose them in the dark. Watching him look to his right then to his left where she waited leaning against the wall, his face broke into a wide smile and her mask of annoyance betrayed her and she smiled right back at him. 

It wasn't a pleasant smile, but one of need, of planning, like her mischievousness, her planning had caught up with her and was manifesting. But that didn't matter-Cedric couldn't distinguish between her smiles.

“Took you long enough, pretty boy,” Sheepishly, he nodded, approaching her.

“Sorry about that, I was in the shower,” He rubbed the back of his head and she linked her arms around his neck, tugging him close. 

Circe wasted no time before connecting their lips, hoping to communicate what she wanted through her passionate kiss. He kissed her back instantly, hands finding her hips. She bit slightly on his plump bottom lip and tugged it in between her teeth, before pulling away.

“I want you, now,” Cedric now held her head in his hands, tightly and she let herself get lost in the feeling, willing herself to forget not Draco, but the episode from earlier. If it meant fooling around with her boyfriend, she would do it; she would do anything.

He moved to open the door to the common room, perhaps to take them back to his dorm, but she moved her head to say no. She didn’t want to be cuddled or loved right now, she didn’t want lingering kisses and holding hands, no, she wanted a quick fix. If she had figured out where to get some form of happy pills, if she had found her Hogwarts Emma—she wouldn’t be in this predicament with Cedric.

“No, not in there,” She took his hand, the second boy’s hand she would take that day, and led him away from the Hufflepuffs, to a small alcove, hidden by two columns, where they could go about doing what they wished.

He pushed her, or more guided her until her back hit the wall, and began kissing her jaw tenderly. Her hands roamed up and down his body, feeling and touching all the muscles of his back, all the dimples and valleys. Cedric kissed a trail of sloppy kisses from her hear to her neck, where he began nibbling, attempting what she could only guess was a hickey. It felt childish, and premature in it's choice of locations. She could only hope it would not leave a mark and that he would give up.

_Gods, I really do have a thing for walls._

Her back arched, and she let out a soft moan she so desperately wished was real. Cedric moaned roughly into her neck, as his hands found her breasts. And he squeezed, he didn't caress them or hold them, he squeezed, full on squeezed the sensitive area so harshly she recoiled, pulling away from him.

"You alright?" His breathing was erratic, panting, as if he were running a marathon not snogging. She, was oppositely more calmed, unbothered. For a moment, awkwardly looking at him and out of breath, debating whether to just walk away, but something inside her told her to stay. She was calm, she was okay, she wasn’t going to let something which happened three years ago dictate this much how she went about with her life.

So, without sparing another thought, she reconnected their lips, trailing her hand down Cedric’s body to the edge of his jeans. When she looped her fingers in his belt buckle and tugged, he let out a moan in her mouth, which she swallowed whole, feeling the vibrations in her throat.

Cedric picked up the pace, bending to kiss agressively down her neck, and nudging her legs open. She complied, not really present but observing above her body in a way. Feeling Cedric advancing lower, with his fingers, she once more complied, but not stopping her own actions. Her attempt to undo his belt buckle had proven to be more difficult than she anticipated, but at last, she had managed to get the thick leather away from the metal. Cedric groaned once more, as he pressed closer against her. She revelled in the feeling of his full erection pressed against her, revelled at the fact that only she had caused it, and only she could in such a small period of time.

If she could wrap Cedric around her little finger more, she would cut off her circulation.

Her finger traced a vein, thumb swiping at the tip, and he almost collapsed against her.

“Fuck, Circe,” He shivered, as she wrapped her hand around him. Cedric, perhaps more impassioned now, more driven to pleasure her, bunched her dress around her waist. Immediately, she felt the cold hit her, her flimsy lace underwear doing nothing to protect her. She began pumping, just as he swiped the delicate material to the side, his movements extremely slow and, well, not careful.

His thumb rubbed the inside of her thigh, doing nothing for her-it wasn't teasing or tentative, it didn't leave her wanting for more, it just felt stupid, like he wasn't aware of female anatomy. Just before she could notice what he was doing, he plunged two fingers deep into her. No other form of foreplay, no warming up to him, nothing just two fingers inside her at once.

And it all collapsed, all at once. He had ruined it for her.

She yelped, pushing him off, in pain and perhaps in embarrassment. Circe gathered her dress, pulling it down, while he stood there bewildered, erection peeking from the top of his pants.

“What was that?” He tried to come closer but she drifted away, her heart began rapidly beating in her chest. “You just, you don’t just do that all at once… Have you ever been with a girl before? What the _fuck_ was that?” She spoke rapidly, in a hushed tone, as she subconsciously wrapped her hands around her torso.

Somehow, he had managed to make her feel dirty, she couldn’t explain why.

  
“Don’t act like you didn’t like it,” She looked up at him, eyes wide, disgusted at his words, at the words of her boyfriend. Albeit a boyfriend she was using for a bet, but that was beyond the point here.

Her heart, her brain, her blood, every cell from her liver to her lungs identified him as the enemy, which was the natural response. Fight or flight. 

“What?” Her tone dripped with loathing, and she willed herself to not hex him senseless. 

“Circe, you were moaning…”

“So that was an open invitation to just stick your fucking fingers in me?”

“Are you a virgin or something?”

“No, I am not a virgin Cedric. I just expected you to actually know how sex works, how all of this,” She gestured between the two of them. “ is supposed to work.” Her voice had turned insidious, channeling the frosty attitude of her mother, the indifference that cut deep of her father. 

He remained quiet while he zipped up his jeans and buttoned them, looping the same belt she had struggled to take off earlier. It’s not like she expected him to ask permission to touch her, or make any move, but some sort of indication, that she could expect. Or maybe she just asked for too much.

Maybe she was too much.

Timothy, the annoying pest he was, always could read her cues, know when she was ready to do anything, knew when to stop. It was her fault to assume all boys were like that. And she hadn’t even had sex with Timothy! Sure, they had done everything and anything that could be done before that, but not full sex, she wasn’t ready, not with him.

She remembered Cedric was in front of her, not the curly-haired Timothy that ultimately wanted to use her, like they all did. 

“Circe, look, I’m sorry,” The pleading tone he so often used found itself back into his voice. Yes, it was made clear now, breaking his heart would no longer be a regret, her boy tingled with anticipation. 

A kiss on the cheek was all she allowed him, a concession on her part for the sake of the game, for the sake of advancing it. However, she would only allow one concession, more would anger her body-this was the enemy, so she turned back around, advancing deeper into the castle, lower to the Slytherin dungeons. To home. 

* * *

A sense of emptiness, a sense that inside she was hollow, like she was a dandelion that blew away with the wind, ran through her, and set root on her walk back. She couldn’t tell if she wanted to scream or cry, or hurt someone or hug someone.

Managing to say the password, and almost tripping over the ridge in the door in the process, she entered the common room quietly.The morning had faded to day, and the common room was buzzing with people. They were in groups laughing, sprawled about, trading chocolates and stories.Unable to move, or register anything from her spot at the door, she watched it all, and no one payed her mind. She quite enjoyed it, feeling like a ghost, feeling invisible. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself tighter, squeezing tight and almost falling into them. Why was she so cold?

Someone shouted her name. The buzzing stopped and she opened her eyes. Why couldn’t they let her be a ghost?

“Circe!” It was Blaise, that was clear as he stood up and waved her over to the couches they always sat on, grinding in a knitted pink sweater, embroidered with a blue flower. Theo was with him, barely looking at her, but when he did, a stab of guilt tore through her. What explanation would she ever offer him? How many lies can one tell to those who care for them? 

The answer is many, so many you might think they drown in them-unless they know how to swim, like Circe, like anyone in her family, like Draco.

But still, how could she tell him, that in that moment, his beautiful smiling face turned awry, turned into the face of the man she wished she could forget. No, she could never tell him, any of them.

She walked across the common room, not realising the two boys were in the company of a third. Draco was next to Blaise, his jaw clenched tight and legs spread wide open. His shirt was unbuttoned, and in the places it was buttoned, it was uneven, the buttons not matched. His hair was also extremely messy, and he had a glowing aura about him, a post-sex aura. It seemed he had fucked Muriel earlier than expected. Circe wondered if he thought of her, thought of her teasing him, toying with him, as he pounded into the pretty redhead.

“What have you been up to?” Blaise handed her a cashmere blanket, one of Astoria’s, as she made to sit on the floor, where she always found herself sitting. On the floor, close to the fireplace, which had been disconnected from the floo line, and was spitting, and moving with bright emerald flames.

She remembered he asked her something.

“Oh, nothing really. I’ve just come back from the infirmary,” She edged closer to the warm fire, feeling as if it was bringing her back to life, heat filling the hollow in her. “The monthly womanly curse,” She grinned back at him, and at Theo, offering him a different type of smile.

“You feeling alright then love? You do look a bit tired—,”

“Really making a girl feel special Blaise,” She interrupts him, playful edge returned to her voice.

“No, er, you're glowing, it's just, Luna talks about potions you could take, for pain relief, for muscle spasms. She learned about them in her healer training. I could ask her about them if you want,”

She nodded, though she was lying. Her period was rare, and she hadn’t gotten it in three months at least, and she certainly had not gotten it now. A Healer suggested it was stress, and it made her mother scoff and call her a spoiled brat in French, so the old man would not understand.

Blaise began talking once more, and she focused on the fire in front of her, reaching out a hand close to it, feeling a small spark jump on her skin. It had not troubled her, but what did, was the feeling that she was being watched.

And she was. Draco’s eyes darkened as she turned around to make eye contact for a spilt second. To her surprise, Draco was not the only one—Theo, was looking at her, and it felt like it did before, like he was lookingthrough her. His chin rested in his open palm, and he looked away when he observed that he had been caught.

“Circe,” Theo shifted on the couch and she took it as her clue to offer all her attention just to him. The cream jumper he was wearing looked so soft, she wanted to touch it.

“Mhm,”

“McGonnagal was looking for you, after breakfast,” Her ears perked and she arose quickly, taking the empty seat next to him on the couch. Tucking her knees under her, she readjusted the blanket, and the corner fell over Theo’s leg as well. She didn’t mistake the look in his eyes.

“And?”

“I told her you’ll find her in the afternoon, think she mentioned something about your ballet thing,”

She beamed at him, standing up with a renewed joy. Before she ran to the bath in her dorm, to wash everything off and prepare to meet McGonnagal, she bent down and pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.”

Was Theodore Nott blushing?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed <3 Next chapter will involve the beginning of the ballet society, with McGonnagal's help, and the introducing of 2 new characters which will be important later on as well as some other things :))  
> Song is I Blame Myself by Sky Ferreira


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